


The Interrogation

by aurora_australis



Category: Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries
Genre: Case Fic, Established Relationship, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-18
Updated: 2018-08-15
Packaged: 2019-06-12 16:34:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 34,150
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15343935
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aurora_australis/pseuds/aurora_australis
Summary: When a young man goes missing from a familiar location, Phryne and Jack must navigate old friends and new complications in their search to find him. But not everything is as it appears and it soon becomes a race to solve the case before one of them pays the ultimate price.





	1. Past is Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Well, here it is. My first attempt at a case fic. I've been working on this thing on and off for the last six months, so if nothing else, the experience has made me even more in awe of the wonderful writers whose case fics I have read and enjoyed since discovering this community.
> 
> Literally _**ALL**_ the thanks to Fire_Sign for being the most incredible beta, and to the Phrack writing community for their encouragement, in particular fromaLongLineofTVDetectives and Scruggzi for helping me navigate the process in the beginning, and Bluecityrose for being such an awesome cheerleader at the end.
> 
> The plan is to update two to three times a week, real life permitting.

**April 1934**

The room was dark, but the light directly above him was bright. It was disconcerting. An old trick but an effective one. Squinting, the man in handcuffs assessed his surroundings. One table, two chairs, one door, zero windows, and one long mirror on the opposite wall. He briefly wondered if it was one of those new transparent mirrors he had read about, before remembering he had far more pressing matters concerning him. He took a deep breath, leaned back slightly in his chair, and waited for the man who had handcuffed him to return. He didn’t have to wait long; a minute later the door swung open and a tall man walked into the room, closing the door behind him deliberately. He took a seat opposite the prisoner and reached into his pockets to remove the prisoner’s warrant card and gun, placing the latter on the far side of the table and reading the former aloud.

“Senior Detective Inspector J. Robinson. Well that’s quite a mouthful. Something shorter I can call you?”

“You might as well call me Jack. Everyone else does.”

“Well, Jack, this is quite a situation you find yourself in, isn’t it?”

“I’ve had better days, certainly.”

“So…. care to explain why you were sabotaging military equipment on a military base?”

“I… wasn’t?”

“Oh, but I have evidence you were.”

“What evidence?”

“I found you using a crowbar on a high-security RAAF locker not one hour ago. Lockers we use to store sensitive military equipment. The Aerodrome Defence Guards who were with me can corroborate that. Sounds like evidence to me.”

“It’s not what you think.”

“It never is, mate, it never is. But I'm a reasonable bloke, willing to hear you out at least. What’s your story, eh? Convince me you shouldn’t be tried for sedition here.”

____

“Well… there’s this woman.”

____


	2. This Woman

_**FIVE DAYS EARLIER** _

Phryne checked her arsenal one final time. Gratin from Mr. B - check. Tea from Dot - check. Anzac biscuits, made by Jane from Jack’s own recipe - check. All present and accounted for. _Alright_ , she thought, _if this doesn’t do it, nothing will_. She squared her shoulders, lifted the wicker basket, and entered City South Police Station.

With the exception of a few extraordinary incidents, it had been years since any of the constables had tried to stop her entering Jack’s office, and today was no exception. She knocked briskly before entering, swanning over to his desk and dropping the basket right over the file he had been reading. 

“Hello, Jack,” she chirped, smiling too brightly, even for her.

Jack looked up from the wicker basket that only a moment before had been an autopsy report, and was immediately suspicious.

“Miss Fisher. What do you want?”

The woman in question responded with a small pout. “What, can’t a lady bring her fella lunch? I’m just trying to take care of you.”

“No, you want something. Otherwise you wouldn’t be trying to blind me with high voltage smiles and using words like ‘fella’.”

She smiled again and leaned languidly against the desk. “So suspicious, Jack. How can you doubt my motives? After all this time. Honestly, I’m hurt.”

Jack said nothing. He simply crossed his arms over his chest and stared at her. 

With a sigh, Phryne dropped the smile and hopped up on the desk. “Yes, alright, even I‘m suspicious of me now. But the point remains that I did bring you lunch, so you might as well eat while I fill you in on our newest case.”

“ _Our_ case, Miss Fisher?”

“If you’re good. It’s a doozy and I could use the assistance.”

“Isn’t that why you have Mrs. Collins?”

“That’s why I have everyone,” she sassed with a wink. 

Jack just grunted in reply.

“Oh come now, Jack, don’t be like that. You should be excited I’m including you from the beginning this time.”

“Oh I should, should I? On a private case? And here I thought I worked for the public.”

“Of course you do, darling. And here I am.” She smiled again and looked pointedly at the basket before returning her gaze to Jack. 

Still highly suspicious, but also hungry, Jack sighed (more dramatically than Phryne felt was necessary under the circumstances, but that was her fellafor you), motioned for Phryne to go on, and began dishing out the contents of the basket onto the two plates held within. 

Phryne hopped off the desk and went to shut the door. “Best to keep this just between us for now I think.” She returned to her chair and accepted a plate from Jack before continuing. “I had a woman come see me today. A Miss Molly Harris. She’s worried about her brother. He’s missing.”

“A missing persons case, Miss Fisher? I fail to see the ‘doozy’ angle yet.”

“That’s because I haven’t told you where he’s missing from.”

Jack looked up from his gratin and tilted his head in silent question.

“The RAAF Base.”

Jack raised a hand to the bridge of his nose and closed his eyes.

“Of course. Another missing airman, Miss Fisher? Why do I feel we’ve danced to this tune once before?” 

It was Phryne’s turn to cross her arms at that. Jack immediately regretted his word choice.

“You know what I mean, Phryne.”

“I really don’t, Jack. I’d think by now I wouldn’t have to explain my ‘steps’ to you. _And_ , as it happens, the missing man isn’t RAAF at all. He’s part of a civilian team helping to make some repairs to the older buildings on base. He’s only been working there for a couple of months.”

“I stand corrected and contrite. Am I forgiven for my poor phrasing?” He looked at her in question.

"Provisionally," she said, arms still crossed but posture relaxing. “Will you help me with the case?”

“Possibly. I’m still waiting to get to the case part. Why does Ms. Harris believe he’s missing?”

“Because he telephoned her.”

“And said ‘Help, I’m missing’? Well that’s convenient. I wish all our cases were so clear cut.”

“Oh you’re in a mood today. Eat your food, be quiet, and let me speak, please.”

Not needing to be told twice to eat Mr. Butler’s delicious gratin, Jack refilled his plate and teacup and gestured for her to go on.

“He phoned her at work. _Her_ work. She’s a secretary for a law firm. Anderson, Turner and White. I don’t know it except by reputation, but it’s supposed to be a very good firm. Anyway, just past three yesterday afternoon she received a call from her brother, William. He tells her he’s in trouble and needs her help. She tells him to meet her at her flat at half five when she gets home from work. But he never arrives. She checked with his landlady this morning before she looked me up. Apparently he never returned home last night.”

Jack kept silent, waiting for her to continue. When it became clear she was finished he grabbed a biscuit and spoke up, “So as of just past three yesterday afternoon he was alive, if not necessarily well. Correct?”

“Yes.”

“Phryne, he hasn’t even been ‘missing’ 24 hours. Aren’t you getting a little ahead of yourself here?”

“Possibly” she conceded, “but I just have a feeling about this one. I think he’s in real trouble, Jack.”

“Alright.” Jack took a breath before asking his next question. “What does your friend Compton say?” When Phryne didn’t respond, Jack continued. “You mentioned he was back in Melbourne again, didn’t you? I assume he was your first phone call.”

“No, I haven’t spoken to him yet.”

“Why?”

“I don’t want to involve him if I don’t have to, Jack.”

“Phryne, I appreciate you trying to spare my feelings, but he’s a source and you can’t just -”

“Jack Robinson, if you think I’d let a young man stay lost to spare your feelings - or mine for that matter - you really don’t know me at all.”

And for the second time in five minutes, Jack felt like an ass. He sighed, and held out his hand to her as a gesture of peace. “I’m sorry, Phryne. You’re right. I’m in a mood. I was annoyed before you got here and now… I think talk of the RAAF base and missing men is just bringing up some unpleasant memories for me. But that’s my issue and I’ll keep it to myself going forward.”

She took his hand and squeezed it gently. “I’m sorry, too. I knew this would be… complicated, for you. It’s what drove me to use my best weapons on the opening salvo,” she said, gesturing to the food with her free hand. “But this girl, Jack… her little brother is missing and she’s beside herself. It’s a, familiar, feeling. I want to find him for her. And I know I’m not my most… objective, on cases like this.” She blew out a breath and continued, looking him square in the eye as she did. “Plus there’s a chance this could get _capital O_ official, and that’s where you shine, darling. So all things considered I really could use your help. What do you say?”

Phryne was wrong. Honest communication. _That_ was her best weapon. He would never be able to say no now.

“You have it. What can I do?”

“Come hear her out. She’s coming back to Wardlow tonight so I can interview her again. Our conversation this morning was brief - she didn’t want to be late for work in case he telephoned her there again - and I think your read on her would help me decide on next steps.”

“Fine. I’ll meet you at Wardlow as soon as my shift is over. I’ll be there by six, alright?”

“Excellent. Thank you.” Phyne stood and began tidying her lunch things. She decided to leave the leftovers for Jack, assuming, correctly, that he would be happy to finish them. As she worked, Jack rose from his chair and walked around the desk to stand next to her, taking advantage of the still closed doors to pull her towards him for an _almost_ chaste kiss when she was done straightening up.

“Thank you. I would have missed lunch without your salvo.”

“Enjoy darling, I’ll see you at Wardlow tonight.”


	3. Miss Molly Harris

Jack pulled up to Wardlow at exactly 5:58pm, swiftly parked his car, and let himself in the front door. They still maintained separate residences, both for propriety and personal space, but - with the exception of a few extraordinary incidents - it had been years since Jack had entered Wardlow as a guest and not a member of the household, and today was no exception.

Jack removed his hat and coat and hung them on their appointed pegs with practiced ease, then turned toward the parlour and the voices he could already hear inside. Walking into the familiar room, he found Phryne in conversation with an unfamiliar young woman who was clearly distressed. 

Phryne looked up as he entered and gestured for him to join them.

“Ah, there you are. Molly, this is my partner, Detective Inspector Jack Robinson. Jack, this is Miss Molly Harris, my client.”

“Miss Harris,” Jack nodded, talking a seat beside Phryne on the chaise and removing his pen and notepad from his jacket pocket. “A pleasure to meet you, although I’m sorry it’s under such trying circumstances.”

“Thank you, Inspector. I’m just grateful you’re taking me seriously.”

“Of course. I’m sure you’ve already told Miss Fisher everything, but if you wouldn’t mind repeating yourself, I’d like to get all the details from you directly.”

“Oh, yes, certainly. Well, as I told Miss Fisher, Billy - that is, my brother William - is missing.”

“And you believe that means he’s in trouble?”

“I’m certain of it. Billy is a good boy. He’s conscientious, dedicated, never misses a day of work. And he’s proud of the what he does. He should be. It’s important. As I told Miss Fisher, his construction crew was hired recently to repair some of the buildings on the RAAF base. You don’t get that kind of contract unless you’re the best.” She suddenly looked at Jack sharply. “I probably shouldn’t know that, but I don’t think it was top secret or anything. Just, the men were asked to be discreet is all.”

“Miss Harris, unless I find compelling evidence otherwise, neither you nor your brother is in any trouble. I’m just trying to understand what happened.”

“Yes, of course. I’m sorry, I just - I know something terrible has happened.” She looked to be on the verge of tears and Jack spoke quickly to try and reassure her.

“Well let’s not jump to any conclusions just yet, alright? So your brother works construction?”

“Yes. He’s been with this crew for about three years. Anyway, several weeks ago he started acting… odd.”

“Odd how?”

“Well, he asked me for legal advice. Which of course I couldn’t give him because I’m not a lawyer. But he wanted my opinion anyway. He asked me,” she paused as if trying to recall what he’d said verbatim, “if he suspected something bad was happening, and he didn’t do anything, would he be responsible for anything worse that happened subsequently _because_ he didn’t do something.”

“That’s a bit... vague. What did you tell him?”

“I tried to give him what advice I could. I told him the law wasn’t the issue. His conscience was. And if that was clear, he was fine. But if it was troubling him, it didn’t matter what the law said or didn’t say, he needed to try and right the wrong. And frankly, if I’ve learned anything from my work, it’s that sometimes the law is erroneous anyway.”

Jack glanced over at Phryne and saw her looking approvingly at the young woman. Of course. An acolyte. Heaven help him. He returned his attention to the young woman.

“Did he elaborate on the, uh, ‘bad thing’ that was happening.”

“No, I’m afraid not. I asked, but he said he wasn’t sure it wasn’t all in his head anyway. He didn’t bring it up again, and I didn’t ask, although now I wish I had. Then yesterday, he telephoned me at work. I was immediately worried because he’s _never_ called me at work.”

“What did he want?”

“Help. He said he had discovered something big and he needed my help. Possibly even the help of the men I work for - their legal services, you know. Well, it was late in the day, so I told him to meet me at my flat in two hours. It was just after half three when he rang. I remember because Mr. Turner always takes his tea at three and he was putting away the tea things when Billy rang.”

“And Billy never arrived at your home?”

“No. And I never left, Inspector, not until this morning. And I came straight here after I called his landlady. He never went home.”

“Why _did_ you come here? I gather you didn’t know Miss Fisher previously.”

“Oh no, we’ve never met, but my friend, Rose - Rose Weston - she told me once how ‘Miss Fisher the Lady Detective’, helped her a long time ago. I thought perhaps she could help me too.”

Jack glanced up in surprise at the name. He hadn’t heard anything of Miss Weston in years, which was probably a good thing considering he received the monthly arson reports from the fire department.

“Yes, of course. And how is Miss Weston?”

“She’s well, thank you. She’s working now. For a charity that helps girls who are…” she looked a little embarrassed but continued on, “in trouble.” She turned to look at Phryne. “But you knew that, Miss Fisher, didn’t you? She said you visit her from time to time.”

Jack turned to look at Phryne in silent question, who just gave him a little shrug and a self-deprecating roll of her eyes. Of course. Of course she checked in on the people she had helped over the years. Because Phryne Fisher didn’t just save people, Phryne Fisher made sure they stayed saved. The woman had a heart that knew no equal. It was a lesson he had learned time and again and it still managed to take him by surprise sometimes. Jack suddenly decided propriety could hang, took her hand and gave it a small squeeze. Letting go, he turned back to her most recent cause.

“So, your brother didn’t go home and he didn’t go to you. Can you think of anywhere else he might have gone instead?”

“No. We have no other family. Our parents were killed in an accident when we were small and the aunt who raised us passed on several years ago. So it’s just been Billy and me for some time. Well, and Michael. Michael Barton. He’s my beau. The three of us spend a lot of time together now. I’m afraid I don’t know any of Billy’s friends, but he never speaks of any in particular enough for me to think he’d go to one of them. He’s very close with his boss, but I believe Miss Fisher already spoke with Mr. Wilkinson.” At Phryne’s nod, she continued. “You could check his journal, I know he kept one.”

“We’ll need Billy’s address as well,” Jack said.

“Already acquired, Jack.” Phryne chimed in. Then she turned to Molly. “Did Billy say where he was calling from?”

“No, but I distinctly heard planes in the background. He must have been calling from the base.”

“Did you hear anything else? _Anyone_ else?”

“No, just Billy. Well, I did hear a, an odd noise. In the background. I don’t know what it was, but it reminded me of, well, a mechanical church bell.”

“A _mechanical_ church bell?”

“Yes I know that’s not a very good description, but I remember wondering what it was when Billy first called. I thought maybe he was at church. But the… tone, was all off. And then I was just concentrating on what Billy was saying and I didn’t pay attention to anything else. I don’t suppose that’s any use. I’m sorry.”

“No, that’s very helpful. Don’t worry, Molly, we’ll do everything we can to find out what happened to your brother.”

“Thank you, Miss Fisher. I just - I just want him to be alright.”

“Go home, Molly. Get some rest. I imagine you didn’t sleep a wink last night, did you?” Molly shook her head softly in confirmation of Phryne’s assessment. “Go home. I’ll call tomorrow with any news, alright?”

Molly stood and made her way to the front door, Phryne and Jack following behind. She put on her coat and hat and turned to the detectives once more.

“I really do appreciate this. I feel better, knowing someone’s looking out for him. That’s always been my job, you see. We’ve always been very close, as siblings often are I suppose.” She got a far away look in her eye as she continued speaking. “When our aunt first took us in, we had this horrid nanny who we tried to avoid at all costs, and we spent a lot of time by ourselves as a result. We used to sneak away from Mrs. King all the time to play these games we’d make up ourselves. And stories. We were especially partial to Knights of the Roundtable - Billy was always Lancelot. He loved those stories. He wanted to be a knight when he grew up. Or a pirate.” Molly smiled. “I think we were pirates every other day! I believe his favorite was when he was a commander in the Royal Navy and I was the Pirate Queen.” She laughed softly. “That let him arrest me, you see. He loved those games. We even had our own code. He took it very seriously. He still takes everything so seriously. Sometimes I wish he wouldn’t, he’s so young he should have more fun.” Suddenly she looked up at the two detectives listening to her. “Oh I’m so sorry. Here I am going on and on.”

“It’s quite alright, Molly,” Phryne said kindly, “he sounds like a lovely young man.”

“He is.” Molly said with the conviction of someone who knew they had the truth on their side. “Thank you.”

Jack nodded and Phryne smiled softly. Then Molly turned and left, leaving the door open behind her. 

Phryne stepped forward to close the door, her back to Jack, and stayed there for a few moments, hand on the knob, not making an effort to turn around.

A devoted sister, a missing sibling, and a pirate girl to boot, Jack thought. Damn. He fought his first instinct, which was to gather her in his arms and hold her. Phryne would not appreciate being coddled, no matter how good his intentions. More than likely she would just want to work the problem. He put his hands in his pockets to keep them from betraying him and waited for her to turn around. 

When she did eventually turn to face him, she was all business. “I already checked with the crew chief, Jack, and Billy didn’t report for work today. Which is apparently unheard of, just like Molly said.”

“Well for what it’s worth, I think your feeling is correct. Miss Harris is obviously upset, but she also seems like a generally level-headed young lady, and based on her description of her brother, her concern is justified. I think there’s enough here to open an official investigation.”

“Excellent! See, I told you it was _our_ case.”

“Yes, you’re very clever. So what’s the plan?” Jack asked, suddenly hearing sounds from the kitchen and hoping very much that ‘the plan’ began with dinner.

Phryne eyed her partner with an indulgent eye and led him by the hand to the dining room. “The case can wait until after dinner, I think. As you know, Inspector, my plans always ensure your appetites are sated.”

Jack rolled his eyes, but followed her happily towards dinner.

\---------------------------

Later than night, Phryne sat at her vanity, removing her jewelry, readying herself for bed. Jack hung his suit and tended to his own nighttime rituals. They moved around each other, completing their separate tasks in silence for several minutes until they were both ready for bed. Only then, when they were both tucked in, doona pulled tight against the chill, Phryne spooned loosely against his chest, did Jack speak the words he had been thinking since Miss Harris had walked out the front door.

“Phryne, do something for me, alright? Try… try not to get your hopes up? No matter what we do, this could still end very badly.”

“Jack,” she turned in his arms and looked up at him with a small, sad smile, “I’m afraid I _always_ think cases like this will end badly. The trouble with experience I suppose.”

And for the second time that night, Jack just took her hand and gave it a small squeeze.


	4. Lost

The next morning Phryne woke early and with a plan. She had telephoned Billy’s landlady the night before and agreed to meet with the woman first thing. Phryne bathed and dressed quickly, then went downstairs for breakfast, where she found Jack in the kitchen, already eating toast and reading the paper. Phryne sat down next to him and smugly helped herself to his last piece of toast. Jack just smiled to himself behind the paper. Almost always the first one down to breakfast, Jack had long ago started acquiring three pieces of toast in the morning. 

Mr. Butler really was the soul of discretion.

Putting down his paper, he turned to Phryne - happily munching on her stolen loot - and inquired, “When is Mrs. Combs expecting us this morning?”

“Nine o’clock, so you better get a wriggle on, Inspector, if you don’t want to be late.”

“I’m ready whenever you are.”

Phryne stood, finishing the coffee that had magically appeared the moment she sat down, and gestured with her last bite of pilfered toast towards the door. ‘Well go ahead then, lay on, Macduff.”

\---------------------------

They drove in Jack’s car to a boarding house in South Melbourne, owned and managed by Mrs. Martha Combs. It was neat and tidy and much nicer than most of the boarding houses the detectives visited in their line of work. Walking up to the front door, Phryne noticed a small garden to the side of the house. Behind it was a shed, with a little bench adjacent, and a push bike chained to the back gate. Overall, the whole effect was rather homey. Phryne’s heart sank just a little; a young, single man who chose to live here would never just up sticks on his loving sister.

Billy had now been missing for just over 40 hours.

Jack knocked on the door, and a moment later the lace curtains pulled back to reveal a round face under a mountain of white hair. The face disappeared and the door swung open. 

Phryne greeted her warmly. “Hello! You must be Mrs. Combs. I’m Phryne Fisher, we spoke on the telephone last night? And this is my partner, Detective Inspector Jack Robinson.”

Jack nodded a hello, but remained silent.

“Oh yes, please do come in!” Mrs. Combs stepped aside to usher them into the house and towards the parlour. “I’m afraid the house is in a bit of a state, I usually dust on Fridays, which of course is today, so you’re catching the worst of it unfortunately.”

Phryne and Jack shared a subtle, incredulous look. The house already looked to be up to Mr. Butler’s exacting standards. 

“We just appreciate you taking the time to meet with us, Mrs. Combs.” Jack assured her. They all took seats in the parlour. After politely declining Mrs. Combs’ offer of tea, Phryne - clearly determined to finally start her investigation in earnest, social niceties be damned - began the interview.

“Mrs. Combs, as I explained when I telephoned, Billy Harris’ sister has asked me to find her brother for her. I assume he hasn’t come home since we spoke last night?” 

“No, and it’s extremely unlike him. He’s never stayed away this long the entire time I’ve know him. I haven’t seen him since he left for work on Wednesday. I’m terribly worried.”

“And how long has Billy lived here?” Jack asked.

“Just over a year. I believe he was living with his sister before that, but wanted to venture out on his own a bit. And the rules here are pretty simple: rent due on Mondays, respect your fellow boarders, no female visitors upstairs, breakfast at seven and supper at six.”

“And Billy followed all the rules?”

“All my boys do, or they’re out on their backside - excuse my language. But I like to consider myself a pretty good judge of character and I’ve only had two problem boarders in all my years running this place.” 

Jack nodded. “Mrs. Combs, we’d like to take a look around Billy’s room,” he said.

The older woman frowned, clearly uncomfortable with the possibility that she was violating her tennent’s trust. Phyne rushed to reassure her, “Molly has promised that any steps we take to find her brother will be forgiven. She just wants to bring him home. As, I suspect, do you?”

Mrs. Combs nodded and stood. “I do. Follow me.” She led them upstairs to a room at the back of the house, which she opened with one of the keys on her enormous key ring. As the detectives stepped through, she caught Phryne’s arm, looked her in the eye, and spoke without hesitation, “Billy is a good boy. If he’s in trouble, he didn’t bring it on himself. Please, find him.”

Phryne gave a small nod and walked into the room. Mrs. Combs retreated back downstairs, undoubtedly to begin dusting the pristine house.

The two detectives surveyed their surroundings. The room was clean, if sparse. Billy clearly didn’t believe in clutter. He had a few books, mostly swashbuckling adventures and historical biographies, with the occasional Henry Lawson and Banjo Paterson thrown in. His clothes were neatly folded and put away, as were all his personal effects. In the small desk, they found some correspondence from a friend in Sydney and his bank book. There was a small canvas bag under the bed, along with a well-used football. The only art in the room was a sampler, mostly likely made by his aunt or sister, with native birds perched on a tree limb.

“I’m not seeing anything missing, Jack, are you?”

“No. Clothes, duffel bag, petty cash, all here. Wherever he went, he didn’t pack for the occasion.”

Phryne looked through the bank book. “Regular deposits on Fridays. Rent taken out on Mondays. No large withdrawals… absolutely nothing out of the ordinary at all as far as I can see.” She sighed and walked over to the window, continuing to flip through the book. Glancing out towards the yard, she noticed something. She ran her fingers over the ledge, stopping as a piece of wood snagged her right glove.

“Jack, come look at this.”

Jack walked over and examined the section of frame she had indicated.

“It’s cracked,” he noted. “Rather significantly, upon closer inspection.”

“Making the lock useless. Do you think it was done deliberately?” Phryne asked.

“Hard to say. It could just be regular wear and tear.”

“In this house? I don’t think that’s likely.”

“Nor do I. But there are no other signs of a break in. The room looks completely undisturbed,” Jack observed.

Phryne looked at the window again, then tilted her head and subtly moved to open it. 

“Stop,” said Jack.

“What?” she asked, in a slightly too high register.

“You’re about to try and climb out the window to see how easy it would be for someone to break in.”

“Whatever makes you say that, Jack?”

“Because I know you better than anyone, save Mac, and you’ve never met a crime scene you didn’t try to make the scene of a _second_ crime with your shenanigans.”

“Shenanigans? I quite like the sound of that,” she replied, mostly ignoring the small shiver that went through her body as he’d said it. Honestly such a silly word should _not_ sound that erotic. That man’s voice should be registered as a deadly weapon. “Besides,” she added, “I thought we weren’t sure if it was a crime scene to begin with.”

“We’re not. But we’re not going to settle the matter by dangling you out a first floor window.”

“Killjoy,” she teased and then sighed. “So another ‘maybe’ then. This case seems to be frustratingly full of them already. What do you have there, Jack?”

Phryne pointed at the sheets of paper Jack had picked up off the desk.

“They’re newspaper puzzles.” Jack looked more closely. “Old history quizzes, I believe. Questions about Waterloo, Burke and Wills, that sort of thing. They’re pretty worn, and a bit hard to read, but he’s made some notes in the margins here. February 19… 17? John Lackland, plus...” he squinted a bit to read it, “reason? I think?” He frowned. “Oh, but this can’t be right. 1432? I’m sure his reign ended in the early 13th century.”

Jack moved the paper closer to Phryne, who craned her neck to look at it, trying to focus on the evidence and not how delicious Jack was when he was being casually brilliant. “Oh dear, Jack, his handwriting is worse than yours,” she said with a fond glance at her partner. She looked at the notes for a moment more before moving away again. “Well, as interesting as random dates and incorrect musings on terrible monarchs are sure to be, perhaps we should be more interested in the newspaper itself. Does anything jump out to you as particularly relevant?”

“No, but as I said, they’re rather the worse for wear. I’ll have Hugh track down some better copies.”

“Well, is there anything on that desk of use to our investigation?”

“Not really. Maggie said he kept a journal, but I can’t find it anywhere. I don’t suppose you’ve discovered it?” Phryne shook her head no. Jack ran a gloved hand along the bottom of one of the drawers and came up with a key. “Well this might be something.”

Phryne walked over, closer than was strictly necessary, and examined the key in his hand. It was small. Probably belonged to a padlock. Looking at each other over the miniature metal object, Phryne found herself smiling slightly as she often did working with Jack. She no longer considered it the thing they did _best_ together, but it was a damn close second and she always enjoyed it. Her eyes drifted to his mouth, frowning over the tiny key in his large hand, and she had to emphatically remind herself that they were, in fact, working. Still, if the image reminded her that handcuffs _also_ had small keys, who was she really hurting? It was just a momentary distraction after all.

“Miss Fisher?”

The frown had turned into a self-satisfied smirk, and damn the man she was caught.

“Yes, Jack?”

“Found something compelling, have we?”

Damn. The. Man.

“I was just thinking that it’s probably a padlock key and we should ask Mrs. Combs if it’s to anything here.”

“Ah,” he replied, with a knowing nod as he began putting anything of interest in an evidence bag as Phryne put her snagged gloves into her purse. He would send a constable back later to photograph the window. Once they felt they had seen everything useful in the room, they headed back down the stairs to a waiting Mrs. Combs.

“Did you find anything?” she asked.

“Too soon to say,” Jack replied. “But we’ll certainly keep you informed.”

“Thank you.” 

“Mrs. Combs,” Phryne began, “Billy had a small key in his room. Looked like a padlock. Do you have any idea what it goes to?”

“Oh yes, that would be his push bike. His pride and joy it is. You probably saw it when you came in. It was the first thing I did when his sister called, was make sure it was here. And it was.”

Disappointed in another non-clue clue, Phryne did her best to smile at the older woman and remarked, “Ah. Well, thank you for all your help.”

“Of course. You just let me know if I can do anything else, all right?” Then she took Phryne’s hands and repeated her earlier request. “Find him.”

“We’ll do our very best, I promise.”

Mrs. Combs gave a satisfied nod, then, looking Phryne over in an entirely different manner, asked, “So when’s the wedding?”

“I’m sorry?” Phryne responded.

The older woman nodded towards the small ring with a stone the color of Phryne's lipstick on her left ring finger. Then she glanced towards Jack with a knowing smile and a suggestive raise of her eyebrows and added, “Soon, I hope.” The subject of her signifying look was thankfully putting on his hat during the end of the conversation and missed the nonverbal elements enitirely.

“Oh, well, my parents live in England, and I don’t know when they'll be able to come over next...” Phryne offered noncommittally, that slightly too high register returning to her voice. 

“Oh, what a shame. Well, I hope they’re able to travel soon. No parent should miss such an important day in their daughter’s life.”

Phryne just smiled, offered her goodbyes, and quickly followed an amused Jack out to the car.

Pulling away from the kerb, Jack shook his head and clucked his tongue in mock disapproval. “Lying to little old ladies now, are we? Shame, Miss Fisher, shame.”

Phryne adjusted the collar of her coat imperiously before insisting, “I didn’t lie, Jack. I _don’t_ know when my parents will be here next. Anything else was an assumption on her part.”

Jack smiled and shook his head again, his eyes never leaving the road. It was happening less and less of late, but this was only a variation on a conversation they had had many times before. A little over six months ago she’d unceremoniously started wearing an understated ruby on her left ring finger. The press - and more importantly, Jack’s superiors - had concluded it was an engagement ring and run with it. Phryne and Jack would neither confirm nor deny the rumors, which eventually died down to a general assumption on everyone else’s part that they were, in fact, engaged. While at first quite irritated at her temerity, Jack couldn’t deny the ploy had made things easier at work, and in the end had declared it fitting; after all, it made sense that the only person brave enough to propose to Phryne Fisher was Phryne Fisher. 

“Well,” Jack began, “as much as I hate to say it, I believe at this point all roads lead to the RAAF base. The only clue we have of any substance is that telephone call to his sister.”

“Which she swears came from the base. Yes, I believe you’re right. Well, I suppose I ought to telephone Compton, arrange to look around. Do you want to come?”

“Not really, no.” Phryne looked at him out of the corner of her eye, waiting for his sense of duty to overwhelm his ridiculous petulance. “But I probably should.”

And there it was. 

“Why don’t I take you back to Wardlow?” he continued. “You can call Captain Courageous from there and I can start moving on things at the station. Let me know when you set something up.”

Phryne rolled her eyes at Jack’s childish nickname for the man, but nodded at his suggestion. It seemed they were headed back to the base after all.


	5. Baser Instincts

A little after one that afternoon, Phryne pulled up outside the base, stopping just before she got to the main gate. She took a minute to pause, remembering how different her life had been the last time she was there. Things with Jack had been, to borrow an entirely appropriate metaphor, up in the air at the time. But that was before. Before her trip to England and the many letters he’d sent after her. Before their private reunion in Darwin and public return to Melbourne. Before they’d hammered out the many kinks of working together while sleeping together. Before the holidays and the arguments and the compromises and the make up sex. Before the ridiculous arguments she’d been known to pick _for_ the make up sex. Before he’d realized his fear of losing her in the end was a paltry excuse for not beginning at all. Before she’d realized that being with him made that whole world out there even bigger. Before a happiness neither was certain they themselves deserved, but knew without question the other did. 

All in all, Phryne much preferred “after.”

Shaking off the wave of memories and focusing on the present, she put the car back into drive and pulled up to the gate.

“The Honorable Miss Phryne Fisher to see Group Captain Lyle Compton. He’s expecting me.”

Which was technically true. When she had telephoned to explain the situation and ask permission to investigate at the base, Compton hadn’t exactly been thrilled, especially when she mentioned she’d have constabulary company with her. But she’d persuaded him that the alternative - the kind that went through official channels and involved mounds of paperwork - would be even less fun. He had reluctantly agreed to meet with her and Jack unofficially for now. That man did _not_ enjoy paperwork.

In some ways, they really were remarkably similar.

The guard checked his list and gave her a nod. Phryne pulled around as indicated and parked the Hispano-Suiza. Before exiting, she checked her lipstick in the mirror and smoothed down her hair. She and Jack had agreed that she would arrive first to topple any remaining resistanceand she wasn’t about to go into battle unarmed.

She walked across the airfield in the direction of Compton’s office, but only made it about halfway before being intercepted by the man in question. “Phryne Fisher!” he boomed and she stopped, saluting him with a smile and a wink. Compton closed the distance and pulled her close in greeting. 

Phryne hugged him back, and for a moment allowed herself to revel in the familiarity of his embrace. It was a nice feeling, but she also knew it belonged firmly in the past. Before she and Jack had ever made do with each other, Compton’s decision to deceive her in the James Manning affair had determined that. Still. As it turned out, the past had a very solid chest and still smelled awfully nice so maybe she stayed in the hug a moment longer than was strictly necessary. Only when she stepped back did she notice the good-looking man behind Compton, standing at attention. She looked to Compton to make the introductions.

“Cal, this is The Honorable Miss Phryne Fisher, Lady Detective. Phryne, this is Warrant Officer Callum Thompson. Cal is in charge of our Aerodrome Defence Guard - basically they protect the base. If anything had happened here, he’d be the first to know. I filled him in on your case on the off-chance he had heard anything.”

The first thing she noticed was that Thompson was tall, at least six foot Phryne thought, with short, sandy blonde hair and deep blue eyes. His face was exceedingly handsome and his smile, while slightly crooked, said he knew it. He had a strong jawline and a well-built physique, though, she postulated, not quite as well-built as a certain policeman she knew. There was a time Phryne would probably have investigated further. Much _much_ further.

“A pleasure, Miss Fisher. But I’m afraid I can’t be much help. All the lads on the base tend to toe the line. Nothing stands out as particularly criminal. I think you’re probably looking for something a little more civilian.”

“He’s right,” Compton concurred. “As far as I know, the only crime reported on base this week was a stolen bicycle,” he added with a chuckle.

“A bicycle?” Phryne asked. “That seems a little slow for the aviation crowd.”

Thompson nodded in agreement. “Indeed, Miss Fisher. I suspect it was just some young airman who had a pint too many and decided to pull a prank on his mate. I’m not too worried about a crime wave.” He smiled and winked at Phryne, who smiled back. “And if there is, well, now we have a beautiful lady detective to help put a stop to it.”

“Alright, don’t you have somewhere to be, Thompson?”

“Yes, sir. Best of luck on your search, Miss Fisher. If I can be of any service to you _at all_ , please, just let me know.” He gave a salute to Compton and walked off in the direction of the nearest hanger. 

“Well, he’s friendly,” Phryne observed.

“Hmph. And young.”

“Even better.”

“Don’t you have a fiancé now? Or was that just another ploy to get on the base of some other poor bastard?” Compton asked.

“I have a ring. Whatever else other people decide to make of that fact is their problem, not mine.”

“Is that so...” Compton noted in a manner that left very little to the imagination as to his meaning. And if Phryne was a little pleased that he was still so clearly interested, well she was only human. But she was also loyal and uninterested in leading on an old friend.

“What I don’t have anymore is ballast. With Jack, I mean. I’m afraid liftoff was some time ago.”

“And it’s still clear skies ahead?”

“There’s the occasional turbulence or unexpected barrel roll, but for the most part, yes.” Then she added in a softer tone of voice, “I’m happy, Lyle, and I’d hope you’d be happy for me.”

“Of course. Of course I am, Phryne. Forgive my impertinence.”

“There’s nothing to forgive.”

“So.... where is Inspector Integrity, anyway?”

Frustratingly similar. 

She sighed. Well that detente was short lived. “He’s on his way and should be here shortly, assuming you haven’t given orders to have him shot on sight at the gate. In the meantime, what can you tell me about this construction project?”

“Not too much.”

“Classified?”

“No, just not very interesting. The base is getting older, some of the buildings are in need of repairs, we subcontracted the job out. Fairly cut and dry.”

“It’s a military base. I doubt anything is cut and dry.”

“Well this is as close as it gets. Honestly, Phryne, it’s not a conspiracy, it’s just basic repairs.”

Phryne looked around at the airmen milling about, then grinned cheekily at Compton. “From what I can see, there’s nothing basic here at all.”

“Alright, Phryne. You’ve had your fun. Now, what can I do to help you find this young man?”

\---------------------------

Jack pulled into the base, gave his name to the young man at the gate and swiftly parked his car next to Phryne’s Hispano. He looked at his wristwatch. Accounting for her head start, and likely speed, she should have been here at least a half an hour by now. Hopefully long enough to smooth any ruffled feathers caused by their visit. He exited the vehicle and made his way to where he vaguely remembered Compton’s office to be. When he arrived, however, another man entirely was inside, cleaning the windows.

“Can I help you?”

“I’m looking for Group Captain Compton.”

“Oh, he’s in Building 9 now. Much nicer digs than this. I guess that’s what happens when you’re up for Air Commodore,” the man grumbled, more to himself than to Jack.

“Is that so?”

“Yes, sir. Nicer digs and a meaner disposition.”

“Oh?” Jack asked.

“Honestly, you’d think the War was still on, the way that man hounds the men. Doesn’t tolerate a toe over the line. Glad I’m just in maintenance.” Suddenly he seemed to remember himself and looked at Jack suspiciously. “But you didn’t hear it from me.”

“Hear what?” Jack asked with a sly look. 

“Right-o. Ya need directions to Building 9, sir?”

“No, I think I can manage. Thanks though. Hooroo.”

Jack turned around and followed what he remembered of the layout and building order. He realized he remembered quite a bit. Which was in many ways unfortunate; that case had not been his proudest moment and he’d just as soon forget that whole episode.

He arrived at Building 9 and mentally agreed with the window washer - these were nicer digs. Looked like Compton was moving up in the world. He tried to ignore the irritation that thought provoked.

He entered the building and followed the sound of his favorite laugh towards a door on the left. Walking inside, he saw Compton sat behind his desk and Phryne in the visitor’s chair nearest the window. Again, a feeling of déjà vu came over him and suddenly it felt like 1929 again.

Ridiculous.

He shook it off and moved to shake Compton’s hand as the other man stood in greeting. 

“Inspector. Nice to see you again.”

“Likewise, Group Captain. How was your time in Sydney?”

“Busy. That town is in constant motion. Makes it hard to focus on the flying, if I’m honest. I can’t say I miss it. Was jolly glad to be reassigned to this place again last year.”

Jack nodded. “I take it Miss Fisher has filled you in on the details of our missing person’s case?”

“Indeed. And I’ll tell you what I told her - there’s nothing nefarious at play. He’s a young man earning good money on this job. He likely just went walkabout to spend some of it.”

“I’d like to interview his boss, just the same.”

“Be my guest. His crew is working in the repair shop today. I can take you there myself.”

“Wonderful,” Phryne chimed in, deciding to purposely ignore how tight Jack’s jaw was and how tall Compton was trying to make himself appear.

Obnoxiously similar. 

She walked toward the door, turing in the frame to ask, “coming?”

Both men went after her.

\---------------------------

Compton led them to a building on the other side of the base; there was a small group of men working on a plane, but it appeared otherwise deserted.

“Hmph,” Compton muttered. “A bit early in the day to be done, I’d think.”

“Could they be working someplace else?”

“They’ve been here all week and I’d have been alerted if they’d finished. Besides, they _just_ received another shipment of supplies,” he added, gesturing to some materials stacked by the door. “They should have plenty to do with all the material they go through.”

“Perhaps they’re on break,” Jack offered.

“No, their tools are gone. Bloody civilians. Give me a military work ethic any day.”

“Yes, well, the moral benefits of routine and rations aside, is there anyone we can speak with? I’d hate to think we wasted the trip.” Phryne added.

“Warrant Officer Thompson or one of his men should be nearby. They’ve been tasked with keeping an eye on the crew while they’re here.”

Phryne was just about to suggest looking for him when she heard something from the direction of the plane repairs. A loud rhythmic clanging… like a mechanical church bell!

“Jack! Listen!”

Jack did as she asked, picking up on her train of thought immediately. “Captain, is there a telephone in this building?”

“Yes, in the office just over here, I believe.”

The detectives rushed in and examined the small space, Compton on their heels. They looked around, noting the furniture slightly moved and the obviously new dent in the wall. Now that they finally had a lead to follow, they were determined to make the most of it and examined the small room thoroughly. Their eyes met as they finished their search simultaneously.

“No blood or major destruction,” Phryne observed.

“No. Perhaps not the scene of whatever happened then. But certainly something. A precursor?”

“Quite possibly. Looks like someone tried to clean it up, too.”

“Excuse me,” interrupted Compton, “but would one of you mind explaining whatever the hell it is you’re doing!” 

“Look around the room, Lyle.” Phryne pointed to a nail in the wall, barely protruding and missing a reason for being, a desk that had been recently shoved to the side, a bit of broken glass, the telephone receiver still slightly off its hook. “It’s clearly been the scene of a struggle.”

“And recently,” Jack added.

Compton looked unconvinced. “I see a couple scratches on the wall and a bit of detritus someone forgot to remove in an underused office.”

Phryne barely acknowledged his remark as she quickly moved past him into the main hangar once again.

“Slow down, Dorothy!” Compton shouted, but Phryne ignored both the directive and the long-discarded nickname.

She looked around, considering the options. “Let’s assume there was an altercation and it didn’t end in the office. If it had, he’d either have called someone for help from the telephone or we’d have found more damage. What if Billy ran instead?”

“Trying to get away from someone?” Jack asked. 

“Yes. They struggle and he runs. Where would he go?”

“Out,” Jack stated, “nowhere to hide in here.”

They moved as a group outside and looked around. It was fairly deserted on this side of the base. Just old airplane parts, a bit of rubbish, and a number of bicycles leaning against a wall.

Phryne turned to Compton. “You said a push bike went missing this week. Where did it go missing from?”

“I don’t know, I don’t keep up on those kinds of things. Here, I suppose. This is where the men keep their bicycles.”

“Billy was a cyclist...” Jack began.

“A cyclist in need of an escape.” Phyne concluded.

“He took the bike!”

“He took the bike!”

\---------------------------

Twenty minutes later they had a map of the area in hand and a reasonable idea what route Billy would take to get back to Melbourne via bicycle, if that had indeed been his destination. Without any other idea of where he would go, they decided to follow their best lead and head towards Molly’s office in Melbourne. They drove slowly, Jack at the wheel because even Phryne knew when it was best to remove temptation. Her keen eyes swept the road and surrounding bushland for any sign of the bike. Perhaps he’d had an accident and needed help. Perhaps if they found him now he’d recover. Perhaps, perhaps, perhaps.

They had made it about halfway back to Melbourne proper when she spotted some foliage that looked newly bent. She indicated for Jack to stop the car and they both got out and walked over to the spot. At first they didn’t see anything. Then Jack noticed some tyre marks in the dirt off the main road. Following them with an increasing sense of dread, they stepped past some bushes and saw him. Billy has indeed fled via bicycle. But he hadn’t escaped.

Billy Harris was dead.


	6. Found

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a heads up, there is a brief discussion in this chapter about the victim’s injuries. There is zero graphic content, but still, if you might find it upsetting, or it’s just not your thing, when you get to the morgue, skip to Jack’s line, “So either the car was speeding...” and you’ll be fine.

Phryne and Jack exited the car, and together made a cursory examination of the body, being careful not to disturb any evidence. Very quickly they determined that yes, Billy was definitely deceased, almost certainly due to blunt force trauma resulting from a collision.

“He’s been dead for some time,” Phryne said quietly. “Almost certainly within hours of calling Molly.”

“Mmmm,” Jack agreed. “The cause of death seems obvious, but hopefully Doctor MacMillan will be able to tell us more. We should head back to City South and inform the necessary parties, get the process started.” He started walking back to the car, but Phryne didn’t move to follow. “Phryne?” he asked, turning back to return to her side.

“I’ll stay with the body, Jack, until you get back. He shouldn’t be alone.”

“Phryne,” he said gently, “the body’s probably been out here for almost two days. It’s unlikely to be further disturbed in the short amount of time we’ll be gone. And I’d rather you-” 

He stopped speaking mid-protest; one look at her determined expression and he knew the discussion was over. Instead, he kissed her forehead, subtly patted her handbag to make sure she was armed, and promised he’d be back shortly.

Phryne took a seat a short ways away from the body. Far enough not to disturb evidence, close enough to keep watch. 

She didn’t move until Jack returned.

He brought with him some constables, including Leading Senior Constable Hugh Collins, who immediately began assigning tasks to the other men.

Jack walked over to Phryne and offered a hand for her to stand. She took it and allowed him to pull her up, but made no move to leave.

“Phryne,” he said quietly, “the men have it from here. You can go.”

“No,” she said, suddenly snapping back to herself. “No, I want to look around. See what might have happened. I owe his sister that much.”

“Alright.” He gestured towards the road, inviting her to precede him. She did so, walking along and carefully observing the route the bicycle had taken to the ditch. Eventually she stopped, looking carefully at the tyre tracks that had led them to Billy in the first place. She sighed sadly.

“You’re seeing this too, aren’t you, Jack?”

“I am. No skid marks. The driver didn’t attempt to brake.”

“No.” She looked up at him sadly. “I believe Billy was murdered.”

\---------------------------

Once the body had been removed to the coroner’s office and the constables on the scene had photographed everything of interest, Phryne and Jack returned to the base to inform Compton of their discovery and retrieve the Hispano-Suiza. 

Jack left after the initial briefing, on the pretence that he had a mountain of paperwork back at City South, but really so that Phryne could more easily secure Compton’s cooperation. After he had gone, Phryne asked Compton to walk her back to her car, planning to obtain his assistance in the investigation, but found herself too distracted to be effective in her task and eventually just let Compton carry the conversation. When they reached her car, Compton turned to face her fully.

“I’m awfully sorry, Phryne.” Compton offered, putting his hand on her shoulder and squeezing lightly. “I know it can’t be easy to have a case end like this. Such a tragic accident.” As she registered his words, her head snapped up and she looked at him intently.

“This wasn’t an accident, I’m certain of it. I need to go break the news to his sister now, but I’d like to return tomorrow to ask some questions of the men who interacted with him. I intend to get to the bottom of this.”

“Of course. I’ll arrange an escort. But, Phryne, I really can’t imagine you’ll find anything. His crew were overseen the entire time, they could hardly wander off and get into any trouble.”

“Well, Billy very obviously did.” And with that, she got in her car and headed back to Melbourne.

\---------------------------

Melbourne was apparently enjoying fewer deaths than usual, because Mac was able to complete the autopsy by late afternoon. Phryne and Jack met her at the morgue to go over her findings. 

“No surprises, I’m afraid. Cause of death was internal bleeding, the result of trauma to the head, legs and pelvis related to the crash.”

“Did he die in pain?” Phryne asked quietly. 

“He didn’t die instantly, if that’s what you’re asking, but I doubt he suffered. People tends to lose consciousness very quickly with these kinds of injuries.”

“Doctor, can you speak at all to the deliberateness of the crash? Is it possible it was an accident?” Jack asked.

“I can’t speak to the driver’s intent, Inspector, but I can tell you they were going very fast. With slower speed collisions, the person hit tends to land on the hood of the car. A little more velocity and they land on the windshield or the roof. Based on his injuries, I believe your victim cleared the car entirely.”

“So either the car was speeding and the driver never saw Mr. Harris…” Jack began.

“Or Billy was murdered.” Phryne finished. 

“Thank you, Doctor.”

“Of course. Will someone be coming by to identify the body today?”

“I’m not sure if she’ll be up to it today, Mac,” Phryne said. “His sister, I mean. But at least, at least we found him. I can give her that much.”

“The victim’s sister is Miss Fisher’s client,” Jack clarified. 

“And I’m afraid I still need to inform her of her brother’s death.” She looked at Mac with a sad smile on her face. “Sometimes I wish I’d just learned Abyssinian.” She shook it off and moved toward the door. “Oh well, nothing for it now. If that’s all, Mac, we’d best go inform Molly.”

Something in Phryne’s voice worried Mac, and as the two detectives turned to leave, she called out, “Inspector, could you stay for just a moment? I have a few questions on another matter.”

Phryne looked at her quizzically, but didn’t argue the point. Jack and Mac worked on lots of cases without her, and anyway she was suddenly very tired.

“I’ll just wait in the car, Jack.”

Once she had left, Mac turned the full force of her personality on Jack. “You heard that, right?”

“Heard what?”

“Phryne, taking this case personally.”

“Miss Fisher takes all her cases personally.”

“You know what I mean, Inspector. You can read her better than anyone, save me, and there’s no way you’ve missed the clues.”

“Yes, alright, fine. I believe this case is bringing up a lot of memories of Janey for her. The siblings were close, the younger one went missing and the older one is beside herself. But given the similarities I think it’s a perfectly understandable comparison to make, and Miss Fisher has been nothing but professional thus far in our investigation.”

“Well, keep an eye on her, alright? She sounded weary, Jack, and Phryne doesn’t do weary. I’ve seen her outdance _and_ outdrink the entire company of the Bolshoi Ballet and then turn around the next morning and bring a chauvinist bank manager to tears. Her _reserves_ have reserves, and if they’re depleted… that must be one hell of a crack, Inspector.”

Jack didn’t say anything, just nodded minutely. He knew she was right, but hated to discuss something so personal about Phryne, even with her best friend. 

“Just watch her, alight? When she decides to head once more unto the breach - and we both know she will - make sure she doesn’t do anything reckless.”

Jack stared at her as though she’d just asked him, genuinely, to stop the sun from rising.

“Yes, alright, point taken. Then make sure she doesn’t do anything more reckless than usual, hmm? She’s smart and she’s capable and she’s almost disconcertingly lucky, but she’s not indestructible and cases like these are where she tends to makes mistakes.” 

“I’ll do my best, Mac.” It was the use of her name, and in the morgue no less, that finally convinced Mac that he was as concerned as she was about her friend. She relaxed a bit knowing he would be on alert; she needed someone to be vigilant about Phryne’s well-being, and it damn well wouldn’t be Phryne. She decided to take pity on the man and end the conversation.

Mac nodded and fixed Jack with a knowing look. “I appreciate that you feel like it’s a violation of her trust to talk about her, Inspector, but if it makes you feel any better we talk about you all the time. At _length_.” She followed this with a very pointed look up and down the Inspector’s person which caused him to look very nervous. Good. She couldn’t have him getting too comfortable around her. She had a reputation to maintain.

Mac gestured to the door to indicate Jack could go, which he did swiftly. Exiting the building, he found Phryne in the car with her eyes closed. She did look weary. As he slid into the driver’s seat and started the car she didn’t open her eyes, just reached out her hand, knowing he would be there to take it; he always was. And, Jack thought, if he had anything to do about it, he always would be.

\---------------------------

They telephoned Molly from Jack’s office and asked her to meet them at City South, which was close by and would offer some privacy when breaking the news. Molly would need to officially identify the body sooner rather than later, but Phryne couldn’t bear the thought of breaking the news to her at the morgue itself. Molly quickly agreed to come, and Phryne wondered if perhaps it would be kinder to tell her tomorrow. Let her have one more night of maybe before the certainty and permanence of loss descended completely. 

When Molly arrived at City South, she had a young man with her. Michael Barton was tall and handsome, with kind eyes that were clearly only for Molly. That’s good, Phryne thought absentmindedly, at least the girl wouldn’t be completely alone.

“You have news, Miss Fisher?” Molly asked hurriedly as soon as she had been shown into the Inspector’s office.

“We do.” Phryne began. She walked over to where Molly was sat in the visitor’s chair and crouched before her. Taking a deep breath and the younger woman’s hands, she looked her in the eye and said as kindly as she could, “I’m so sorry, Molly, but I’m afraid Billy’s dead.”

“What?!” Molly recoiled from Phryne’s touch like she was made of electricity. Phyne didn’t even flinch.

“We don’t have all the details yet, but it seems Billy was cycling from the base back to Melbourne when he was involved in a collision with a motor vehicle. He was killed instantly, Molly, he didn’t suffer.”

Jack didn’t even think about contradicting the statement. 

Molly nodded numbly at the revelations, tears beginning to roll down her cheeks, Michael's hand on her shoulder. “So it was just another stupid accident?” she whispered.

“We’re still determining that part,” Jack interjected softly.

“What do you mean?” Michael asked.

“There’s no evidence that the vehicle tried to stop,” Phryne answered. “It’s possible Billy was targeted.”

“But who would do such a thing?!” Molly cried, the anguish in her voice absolutely heartbreaking for everyone in the room.

“We don’t know yet,” said Phryne, “but we intend to find out.”

Molly nodded again, shock rapidly setting in, and stood up shakily. “Do you need me for anything else? I think I’d like to go home now.”

“Of course,” Jack answered, walking over and opening his door. As they were leaving, Jack pulled Michael to the side for a moment and offered a few suggestions for helping his sweetheart in the immediate aftermath of the news. Phryne vaguely registered the exchange but left them to it. When Jack had finished, Michael nodded and rushed to catch up with Molly in the reception area. Jack then turned to look at Phryne. She had moved over to the visitor’s chair just vacated by Molly and was staring blankly ahead. 

“Phryne?” Jack asked softly. “Are you alright?”

She turned to face him, a false smile on her face. “Of course, Jack. I’m always alright. Do you have much more to do here today?”

“A bit. I can meet you back at Wardlow if you’d like to leave now.”

“No, that’s fine. I can give my statement to Hugh while I’m waiting. We can leave together.”

“If you’re sure?”

“I am, Jack. But thank you.”

Jack watched her with a wary eye, but ultimately went on with the work of the day, trusting she would drop the facade when and if she was ready.

In the end, she kept her composure for hours. 

Through the taking of official statements. Through the waiting while Jack requested files and gave his men on the night shift their orders. Through the ride back to Wardlow.

When they entered the house, she took off her hat and coat and hung them by the door, Jack following suit, following her. She found Mr. Butler in the kitchen and asked that he just put out some sandwiches for dinner, they’d help themselves later; Jack nodded to the man in thanks and then turned to follow her once more. Moving quietly behind her, he accompanied her up the stairs, her ascent slow. When she reached her bedroom door, she opened it gently and walked inside; Jack discreetly closed the door behind them and watched her. She took off her shoes and removed her earrings, and then looked around, seemingly seeing her surroundings for the first time. 

Only then did she allow the veneer to crack.

She took in a great gulp of air, as though her body knew it was about to be denied easy breathing for a long while, and then she sobbed. She collapsed in on herself, great gasping breaths and silents wails, the tears coming strong and fast like a sudden summer storm. Crumpled on the floor of her bedroom, bent over with her hand on her forehead, she wept for Billy and for Molly and for Janey. Jack sat next to her, his back resting on the bed frame, his arm loosely wrapped around her shoulder, keeping her upright but not holding too tight, and just let her cry. He didn’t try to offer platitudes or condolences. He didn’t say anything at all. He was just there, a calm presence to borrow from when she was ready. He could count on one hand the number of times he’d seen her like this. He considered it a privilege each time and he tried to honor her trust as best he could. 

Eventually her grief settled and her tears subsided. Jack handed her his handkerchief and she wiped her face, marking the clean white linen with her makeup. When she spoke, it was quiet but clear.

“I’m afraid I didn’t listen to you, Jack - I got my hopes up. I wanted so badly for him to be alright. I even... I’m not religious, Jack, you know that. I’ve seen too much to believe in a merciful God, and I don’t want anything to do with the alternative, so I just avoid the matter altogether. But every once in awhile, when the situation is dire enough or important enough or terribly familiar enough, I pray. Not, _pray_ pray, like Dot. Just… just a fervent wish, I suppose, to anyone or anything that can hear me.” She looked down at Jack’s handkerchief in her hand, knotted and soiled and real, and took a deep breath. “I prayed at the base, Jack. I thought, please, _please_ let him be alright. Let us bring him home to his sister. I know how these things can go, but give me this one, please.” The tears returned but did not fall this time. The storm was over. She was in the aftermath now. “But of course no one heard. No one ever does. Another sister devastated. Another innocent life snuffed out. At the risk of sounding like a cliché, Jack, it isn’t fair.”

“No. No, it’s not. But we’ve also seen too much too believe in fair, haven’t we?” 

“Mmmmmm,” she agreed, eyes closed. Jack turned to face her and gently lifted her chin up towards him. She opened her eyes to meet his tender gaze. She loved his eyes. She loved him.

“But justice,” he continued, “justice I do believe in. So I’ll pray for that.”

“Pray to who? You’re not religious either.”

“Well… you can hear me.” He shifted his hand slightly to wipe away the tear tracks on her face with his thumb. “And in my experience, you’re pretty damn close to the divine.” She gave a small smile at that, as he’d hoped she would. “So, Phryne, please. Please keep investigating with me. Let's bring his sister answers. Let’s get Billy some justice.”

She nodded and put her head on his shoulder. “Tomorrow though, alright, Jack?”

“Tomorrow,” he agreed.

They stayed there, together, until the room grew dark around them.


	7. Devils and Details

Phryne woke slowly the next morning, the emotional upheaval of the night before having proved exhausting. She took a deep breath, feeling more peaceful in the light of morning, even if still somewhat drained. When she turned, she found Jack in the same position he’d been when she’d finally fallen asleep, watching her. His concern for her was writ large across his face, his handsome features a study in worried affection; she gave him a small smile in response, trying to decide how best to reassure him that she was alright. Feeling a bit more vulnerable than she generally liked to start her day, she elected for cheeky, narrowing her eyes and remarking, “Please tell me you haven’t been up all night watching me. Forgoing sleep entirely is a young man’s game, Inspector.”

Recognizing the tactic for what it was, he simply rolled his eyes and said, “Lord knows you have cost me many a good night’s rest over the years, but I draw the line well before purposefully staying awake to watch you sleep.”

“Well, you’re really missing out then, Jack. I’ve been told I look like an angel when I sleep.”

Jack snorted in response. “Phryne, I love you, but I’m afraid I know you far too well for that image to ever occur to me. Though the novelty of your silence is something I -”

His retort was interrupted by a pillow to the face.

Recovering quickly, he snatched the offending item and tossed it out of reach, rolling her onto her back and holding her hands above her head. 

“Assaulting a police officer before breakfast? Hardly angelic behavior, Miss Fisher.”

“I said I _look_ like an angel, Jack. I never said I was one.” Sliding her foot slowly up his calf, she continued, “Would you like me to prove how devilish I can be?”

Releasing her left arm, he reached down to trace her cheekbone with his hand before quietly responding, “That depends. How are you feeling this morning?”

“I’m fine, Jack.”

He continued to look at her, searching her eyes for the truth.

“Well perhaps not fine. But I’m… feeling calmer, certainly. And I _will be_ fine. Truly.” She looked him directly in the eye, willing him to see she was sincere. “I - I was never going to be able to save Billy. It’s terrible, but it’s true. But I can get some answers for his sister and bring his killer to justice. And that’s exactly what I intend to do.”

He nodded, satisfied she was telling him the truth.

“If you’re sure…”

“I am, Jack. But thank you. For last night and… and for everything.”

“Everything?”

“You’re unique, Jack Robinson, in this world and in my life.” She kissed him, sweetly, before continuing. “So, on behalf of the world and myself, thank you for making both those things better.”

“Oh, well that’s low.”

“What?”

“How am I supposed to keep denying you’re an angel when you say things like that?”

She laughed her real laugh and his heart lightened a bit at the sound.

“Oh,” she said, “I can think of one or two ways to help with that.”

“You know, I’ve always said you’re very helpful.”

“Oh absolutely. For one, I’m about to help you right out of these pajamas.”

“My angel!” he laughed before she rolled him onto his back and quite expertly ended the conversation altogether.

\---------------------------

Later than he liked to start his day, but in an exceptionally good mood, Jack phoned City South while Phryne finished getting ready upstairs. The men on the overnight shift had tracked down all the information he’d asked for the previous evening, and Constable Brown relayed it to him while he scribbled in his notepad. He thanked his constable and hung up just as Phryne bounded down the stairs.

“News?” she asked.

“I have the addresses we wanted. Are you ready to head out?”

“Just let me grab a piece of toast.”

As if on cue, Mr. Butler appeared in the hall with a plate of toast and a cup of strong coffee, which Phryne gratefully accepted, finishing both as she put on her coat and hat.

Deciding to drive together in Phryne’s car - my, Jack _was_ feeling reckless this morning - they headed towards their first stop, the home of Billy’s boss, Drew Wilkinson. After a few moments of riding in companionable silence, Phryne finally asked the question that had been bothering her for the past few days.

“So, are you going to tell me?”

“Tell you what?” he asked, genuinely confused.

“Whatever put you in such a bad mood before my visit to the station the other day.”

“Oh that. It was nothing. Just the usual Russell Street nonsense. Don’t trouble yourself with it.”

“Oh, well, when you put it that way, of course I’ll drop the matter at once. How well you know me, Jack.”

“Phryne,” he said on a sigh, “please? It’s really nothing and I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Honesty, Jack. It’s the one thing we promised each other. Don’t start keeping things from me now.”

“I’m not. I wouldn’t. It really isn’t anything, but,” he continued as she opened her mouth to protest, “if it _becomes_ something, I will be sure to let you know first thing. Alright?”

She looked at him carefully, then nodded her acceptance of his terms. “Alright. But as soon as it does and not a moment later.”

“Heaven forfend I ever keep you waiting, Miss Fisher.”

“Jack Robinson, you kept me _waiting_ for almost two years.”

Not _quite_ how he remembered it, but he was smart enough not to quibble now. “And I gather I’m still paying for it. I’m surprised; for such a charitable woman you do exact your debts.”

“I’m letting you work it off. In installments.”

“So how long will I be making these small, regular pay-”

“Not so small, darling, give yourself some credit.”

He snorted at that and she grinned.

“How long will I be making these perfectly respectable and perhaps a little larger than average payments, do you think?”

“I don’t know,” she said honestly. “But I can tell you you’re nowhere near paid up. And at this rate you never will be.”

He gripped the wheel a little tighter. _No_ , he thought, _not if I have anything to say about it_.

“Well,” he replied, more casually than he felt and aware he wasn’t fooling her for a moment, “as you know, I’m a man who pays my debts.”

“And as you know,” she said, leaning in far more than was necessary, “I find that irresistible.”

Jack bit back a smile and shook his head. “You know, I never used to flirt so much on the way to attend police business, Miss Fisher.” He glanced her way for a moment before adding, “Collins blushes terribly, you know.”

Phryne laughed at that and he grinned, giving up entirely on the pretense of keeping a straight face. Sometimes it was nice to just acknowledge how much fun it was being around her. 

A few minutes later they arrived at their destination. Pulling up to Mr. and Mrs. Drew Wilkinson’s neat looking two-story cottage, Phryne noted with disappointment the lack of vehicle in front.

“Damn. I assumed he’d be home. Compton assured me he was suspending all construction work until the inquest into Billy’s death was complete.”

“And we both know how good his word is.”

Deciding to ignore the snide comment for the time being, Phryne opened her car door and quickly walked up to the front door, ringing the doorbell. Jack caught up to her just as the door opened. A middle-aged woman with blonde hair and a friendly face answered.

“Hello. Can I help you?”

“Mrs. Wilkinson?” Jack asked.

“Yes, that’s me.”

Jack produced his warrant card and identified himself, “Detective Inspector Jack Robinson. This is Miss Phryne Fisher. Is your husband home?”

“Not just now. What’s this about? Is everything alright?”

Mrs. Wilkinson was clearly growing increasingly alarmed by the police presence on her front step. Wanting to calm her, Phryne interrupted, “Your husband is fine, Mrs. Wilkinson. We’re actually here about one of his employees.”

“Oliver?” she asked, half question, half statement.

“What makes you say that, Mrs. Wilkinson?” Jack asked.

“I, uh, just assumed it had to be Oliver. I mean, if anyone is going to get themselves in trouble with the law it’s him.”

“And that would be,” Jack consulted his notepad, “Oliver Martin?”

“Yes. So what’s he done?”

“Mrs. Wilkinson, we’re actually here about another employee - William Harris.”

“Billy? Oh, that can’t be right. Billy’s a dear. He’d never do anything unlawful.”

“I’m sorry to have to inform you, Billy Harris is dead.”

“What?” The older woman looked as if she had been punched in the gut. She staggered back a bit before catching herself on the door frame. “Oh no…”

Phryne and Jack immediately reached for her arms to help steady her, Jack asking, “May we come in, Mrs. Wilkinson?” as they did. The older woman nodded mutely and indicated they should follow her into the front sitting room. Still a bit unsteady on her feet, Jack stayed close until she was seated in one of the room’s two high back chairs.

“Are you sure?” she asked, when both Phryne and Jack were sat opposite her on the sofa. “It’s not perhaps a mistake?”

“I’m afraid not,” Phryne offered kindly. “I’ve been retained on behalf of his sister to uncover the circumstances of his death.”

“Oh poor Molly!” Mrs. Wilkinson looked to be on the verge of tears, which caught both detectives’ notice.

“Were you close with the Harris siblings, Mrs. Wilkinson?” Jack asked.

“Not as much with Molly, of course, but Billy is practically family. He’s worked… he worked for Drew for three years and we got to know him quite well in that time. He is… I’m sorry, he _was_ such a dear boy. Polite, kind, so sweet. His sister seemed much the same. And they were always so close…” The tears that had been threatening won the day and Mrs. Wilkinson began to cry softly. Jack handed her a handkerchief, which she gratefully accepted. “Can I offer you some tea?” she asked, standing suddenly.

“Please don’t go to any trouble on our account,” Phryne answered, but Mrs. Wilkinson started moving toward the kitchen anyway.

“I actually think I’d rather like something to do right now, if it’s all the same to you. I’ll be back in just a moment,” she said and disappeared into the other side of the house. 

Without an interviewee, the interviewers were somewhat as a loss for purpose. Jack opened his notepad again to review everything he’d written down before leaving Wardlow, and Phryne stood to take a look around the room. It was a tidy room, filled with sentimental items but not cluttered. The pictures along the mantlepiece showed a happy couple with no children, though there did appear to be a close extended family. Drew Wilkinson had been in the War; a medal he had won in France was prominently displayed among the photographs. Moving further back there was a writing desk, a small bookshelf, and a large window that filled the back of the room. Phryne wandered over to it, idly looking out at the back of the house. Clearly Mr. Wilkinson used the small yard for work - there were supplies and equipment laid out in neat piles everywhere. 

Phryne circled back to where Jack was still sat on the sofa. She stretched out and peered over his shoulder at his notes, which earned her a patented head tilt and a raised eyebrow.

“You were that student who always looked at the other students’ work, weren’t you?” he accused, playfully hiding his notes behind the arm of the sofa.

“Of course not, Jack. I always finished first. A habit I generally maintain,” she smirked at him and lowered her voice a bit, “as well you know.”

Four years ago, Jack would have coughed and looked away, or, at the very least, shot her a censuring look before pointedly going back to his notes. Today, though, he turned fully on the sofa to look at her, face completely serious but with amusement in his eyes, and countered, “Whereas I have always been meticulous and thorough in _all_ my work. Takes longer, I’m afraid, but I’ve found it’s important to focus on the details. After all,” and here he leaned in to whisper in her ear, “there might not be angels in your bed, Miss Fisher, but I’ve found the very devil in the details.”

Oh yes, Phryne much preferred “after.” No one made complete nonsense sound more alluring than Jack Robinson. The man was sex in a suit when he wasn’t trying, but when he was… well, one only need recall the infamous telescope overture. Phryne found his inexpert attempts utterly charming, however, so she never told him they were far more sweet than seductive. She loved all of him, the ridiculous bits and all.

Leaning back against the sofa, and doing a damn fine job pretending to be unaffected by his voice in her ear, not to mention his adorable attempt at whatever that had been, she smiled at him, planning to elaborate on some details of her own, when they heard noises coming from the hall.

Mrs. Wilkinson reentered the room with a tray of tea things and red eyes that had obviously been crying. But she was calmer now, and after Phryne and Jack each accepted a cup of her delicious tea, Jack picked up the thread of the investigation once more.

“Mrs. Wilkinson, why did you assume we were here about Oliver Martin?”

“Oh, well, I don’t like to speak ill of people, but that boy…. “

“Is he a troublemaker, Mrs. Wilkinson?” Phryne asked.

“Oh no. No trouble, just… he’s always so _nervous_. Like he expects to be caught out at any moment. I’m probably making too much of it; Drew says he’s a good worker and mostly just keeps to himself, it’s just, well, there’s something about him that seems… off, I suppose. Like he expects trouble and for good reason. Of course, now that I say it aloud, it seems very foolish. Please ignore my ramblings.”

“In my experience, a woman’s intuition is never foolish and should never be dismissed,” Phryne offered.

“I don’t want to get the boy in trouble. Especially now. He’ll be devastated by Billy’s loss. All of them will.”

Just then the front door opened, a man shouting as he entered and began removing his outer layers. “Gladys! I’m home! Drove all the way to the bloody base to be sent back again. Didn’t even tell me why. Could have phoned me, saved me the trip.” Turning into the sitting room he stopped short at the sight of the two detectives. “Oh hello. Didn’t realize you had company, Gladys.”

Jack and Phryne stood to introduce themselves. “Detective Inspector Jack Robinson.”

“And The Honourable Miss Phryne Fisher. We spoke on the phone the other day? We’re here about Billy Harris.”

“Of course! Didya find him then?” the man asked, looking hopeful all of the sudden; Phryne once again cursed the utter unfairness of it all.

“We did, but I’m sorry to have to tell you - Billy’s dead.”

“Damn,” the older man said, suddenly looking like a balloon someone had let the air out of. He half sat, half collapsed into the chair not occupied by his wife. Phryne and Jack followed suit, returning to their seats on the sofa.

“You knew he was missing?” his wife asked him.

“I did. I’m sorry, I didn’t want to worry you, my dear.” He took her hand and held it gently. “I… I was hoping he’d be found safe.” He turned to look at the detectives once more. “What happened?”

“We’re still trying to ascertain that, Mr. Wilkinson. But we do know he was involved in a collision with a vehicle and it appears it may not have been an accident.”

“Of course it was an accident! Who would want to hurt Billy? He’s a good kid.”

“That’s what we’re hoping you can help us with, Mr. Wilkinson,” Phryne said gently.

“Well I’m sorry, but I don’t think I’ll be much help. Everyone liked Billy. The crew, the suppliers, even the tin soldiers they got following us around the base. I can’t think of anyone he had a problem with.”

“When was the last time you saw Billy, Mr. Wilkinson?” Jack asked.

“Must have been Wednesday, around… half two? Our hydraulic system broke down a little after noon and once I realized we couldn’t fix it that day, I released everyone. Billy sort of wandered off, as he was prone to do, and I didn’t see him after that. We take two trucks to and from the base each day, I just assumed he’d got a ride home on the other one. Until he didn’t show up here for work the next day. Then I knew something was wrong.”

“According to his sister, in the weeks leading up to his death, Billy was apparently troubled by something. Did he talk about it at all with you?”

“No. No, and if he was troubled, I’m sure he would have done. Billy and me had a good relationship. He… well we never had kids, but if we had, I think we’d have had one like Billy.”

Phryne nodded sympathetically, then turned to Jack. The quick look that passed between them confirmed he also thought the interview was going nowhere. Best to leave these people to their grief and circle back when they could think more clearly. Jack turned back to the Wilkinsons.

“Mr. Wilkinson, could you get me a list of all the men on your crew as well as their addresses?”

“Of course. But I can tell you right now, none of them had anything to do with whatever happened to Billy.”

“Nonetheless, I will need to interview them. And I’d like to start with Oliver Martin.”

“I can give you his address, but you won’t find him there. I gave everyone the day off after they turned us away at the base and Oliver spends all his free time down at the dock by the warmies. Fishing, I think. He seems to enjoy the quiet.”

Another brief look between the detectives. 

“Mr. Wilkinson, do you happen to know what kind of fish he favors and could I possibly use your phone?”

\---------------------------

Thirty minutes later, Jack and Phryne in the Hispano-Suiza met up with Hugh Collins in a standard issue police motorcar on a bank of the Yarra near “the Warmies.”

“Hello Hugh!” Phryne chirped cheerfully in greeting.

“Collins,” Jack acknowledged. 

“Good morning, miss, sir. So, where are we headed?”

“You tell us, Collins, you’re the fisherman. Where’s a quiet spot nearby good for catching red snapper?”

Hugh looked up and down the river for a moment before making a decision and heading upstream a bit, his mentors following close behind. A few minutes later the came to a cluster of trees which almost entirely masked a surprisingly long dock. Stepping quietly past the trees, the trio observed a young man tinkering with some fishing gear on the bank next to the dock. 

When they had closed about half the distance, the man heard them and looked up.

“Oliver Martin?” Jack asked.

He reached into his coat to take out his warrant card, but before he could pull it from his pocket the young man dropped the equipment and started running down the dock at full speed. Hugh only paused a moment before sprinting to apprehend the suspect.

Phryne and Jack performed an almost synchronized tilt of their heads, watching the two young men run. “Where… where does he think he’s going?”

“Which one?” Jack asked with a smirk, beginning to amble towards the dock, Phryne quickly falling in step next to him.

“Be nice, Jack. As Dot tells it, the new baby is keeping everyone up at night. Poor Hugh must be exhausted.”

Arriving at the base of the dock they watched silently as Oliver Martin arrived very suddenly at the end of the wooden structure and realized he had absolutely no exit plan. Hugh was right behind him, stopping short and only just avoiding a tumble into the Yarra himself. The two men squared off, but Martin was considerably smaller than Hugh and he really had nowhere to go. Hugh pointed back down the dock and Martin turned, walking back of his own volition towards the shore and the waiting detectives.

“Mr. Martin. Kind of you to join us. Miss your boat?” Jack asked.

“Oi, whatcha want copper? I didn’t do nothing.”

“If that’s true, why did you run?”

“I thought you was tryin’ to steal me fish.”

“Well your snapper is safe, Mr. Martin. And we have some questions for you down at the station.”

“Alright, come along now,” Hugh began, reaching for Martin’s elbow. But Martin shoved him off, hard.

“Oi, get your hands off me, jack!”

Jack stepped in and pulled Martin’s arm away from Hugh.

“Uh, that would be me, actually.” Jack pulled the suspect’s arms behind his back and reached for his handcuffs, taking special note of the man’s forearm as he did.

“That’s a very distinctive scar, Mr. Martin. From a straight edge razor, if I’m not mistaken.”

“Yeah, I cut myself shaving.”

“You cut your forearm while shaving? You must be absolutely wretched at it.”

“That’s none of your business, copper! What are you arresting me for anyway.”

“Currently, assaulting a police officer,” Jack gestured to where Hugh was rubbing his shoulder. “Then I’m going to call my colleagues in Sydney and find out if there’s anything else I should know.”

Oliver Martin decided at that point to just stop talking.


	8. Probably Maybe

Roughly three and a half hours after they’d sent Hugh back to City South with Oliver Martin and a list of questions for Jack’s contact in Sydney, Phryne and Jack returned to the station themselves. They’d spent the intervening time interviewing all of Billy’s other coworkers. Without fail, they had all been shocked and saddened by the news of his death and none of them had seemed even remotely suspicious. Their stories all seemed to line up with Wilkinson’s version of Wednesday's events and no one had seen Billy after they’d all been excused from work at half two.

Walking into Jack’s office, Phryne collapsed into her chair and took off her hat, shaking out her hair in frustration. “Half a day and no new leads. We still have exactly the same number of suspects as we did when Mr. Martin decided to take a rather short walk down an even shorter pier. And even _his_ behavior can be explained away by something as innocuous as ‘doesn’t like the police’.”

Jack took a seat behind his desk. “Yes, this case does seem to have a distinct lack of motive. Perhaps we should focus on the means and opportunity.”

“I’m afraid that takes us right back to the base, Jack. And our only RAAF contact.”

“I’m aware. I’m sure Captain Bligh can ensure cooperation of the troops.”

“Jack…”

“Phryne.”

Phryne sighed. She sat up, intending to remind Jack of both his manners and her lack of patience on this matter, when Hugh knocked on the open office door.

“Excuse me, sir, a Detective Inspector Chambers is calling from Sydney for you.”

Jack stood and walked towards the reception desk to take the call. As he passed Phryne she shot him a look he interpreted as “we’re not done with this.” He gave her a barely perceptible nod in return. 

Sighing again to herself, she stood to follow him. 

“Yes, hello, Art…. Yes, it has been far too long… Oh fine, fine.” There was a pause during which Jack glanced up at Phryne and then back to his notepad. “Yes, still… Well, I think she’d like that too…. Oh you were? Excellent. So what did you find out?” Jack began scribbling in his notepad. Evidently his friend had discovered quite a bit because by the time he was done, he’d filled two full pages. Eventually he stopped. “And you’re sure about that last part? Well I think I may have good news for you then…. I’ll let you know after I interview him. Thanks again, Art. My best to Sylvia.”

Jack hung up the phone and turned to Phryne. “Well I think it’s fair to say Mr. Martin _doesn’t_ like the police. But he’ll still have a hard time explaining away this.” He handed her his notepad and pointed to the most relevant pieces of information. Phryne looked up in surprise. 

“I’d say you’re right, Jack. If I can use your phone for a bit, I think I can connect the rest of these dots. And then I think it’s time we talked to Mr. Martin, don’t you?”

\---------------------------

Oliver Martin was brought up from the cells and sat across from Phryne at the interview table. Hugh remained by the door and Jack stood back and to the side, leaning against the wall, calmly reading his notes. After a few moments he looked up and spoke. 

“My colleagues in Sydney have no record of an Oliver Martin.”

“So I’m free to go then, yeah?”

Jack continued on, paying no mind to the interruption. “But they _did_ have a record for a Robert Martin, Jr. Local boy involved in one of the razor gangs. Son of,” Jack consulted his notes, “Robert Martin, Senior, of Martin Construction. Wanted for, among other things, questioning as a witness in a deadly gang fight last year. Went missing six months ago. Presumed dead.”

The young man looked at the table with as much defiance as was possible when staring down a piece of furniture. “Don’t see how any of that has to do with me.”

“Well, Robert Martin’s your cousin, Oliver.”

“How are you feeling, Oliver?” Phryne asked suddenly.

“What?”

“You seem remarkably recovered. Considering you had to quit your job as a shop clerk six months ago because of a particularly nasty bout of influenza.”

Martin was silent for a moment, clearly considering whether the jig was completely up or whether there might still be a exit plan. He offered up one more Hail Mary explanation.

“I got better?”

Looking at the two detectives’ unimpressed faces, Mr. Martin was suddenly quite sure he was at the end of another dock.

Oliver, née Robert, Martin sighed and looked at his hands.

“Fine. You win, alright? Ollie was my cousin. I came to visit him when things got too hot in Sydney last year. But it was... he was already real sick. I tried to help, honest, but he didn’t make it very long after I got here. Maybe a couple days? But, it was obvious, ya know, that no one would miss him. And I wanted out. I thought this could be my fresh start.”

Phryne leaned forward. “So you assumed his identity and found a new job more suited to your skill sets.”

“Yeah.”

“And when Billy found out your secret, you had to kill him.”

Martin’s head snapped up. “What?! Billy’s dead?”

“I’m afraid so, Mr. Martin,” Jack confirmed. “And we suspect foul play.”

“No, that’s… how?” he asked. “How did it happen?”

“Collision with a motor vehicle earlier this week.”

“And you’re sure? It couldn’t, maybe, be a mistake?” he asked, almost pleadingly.

“I'm afraid not,” Phryne replied.

“Damn,” the young man muttered, suddenly uninterested in the detectives or their questions. “That’s…. damn.”

Phryne allowed him a moment before resuming her assault. “So, what happened? Did he confront you? Maybe it was an accident. Perhaps you didn’t even mean to kill him.”

That got Martin’s attention.

“What? No! I mean, yeah, Billy knew. But I didn’t kill him. He was me mate.”

“Go on,” Jack encouraged. 

“Billy had a pen pal in Sydney. Said I… I sounded just like him. Apparently I use a lot of ‘Sydney slang’, whatever that is. Anyway, one night after a few too many pints, Billy asks me when I lived in Sydney and I wind up telling him the whole sorry story.”

“What did Billy say?”

“He got real quiet for a bit, which made me nervous, but then he just said that as far as he was concerned everyone deserves a second chance if they’re willing to work for it. And I seemed like I was.” Martin gave a small, sad laugh. “Then he bought me another pint.” Raising his head he looked Phryne in the eye and declared, “I didn’t kill him. He was my friend. The first real one I’ve had in a long time and I wouldn't've hurt him.” 

“Constable, please escort Mr. Martin back to the cells.”

Hugh helped Martin to his feet and towards the door. Just before he reached it, he turned to face Phryne. 

“I got a couple of pounds stashed away from working for Mr. Wilkinson. I’d like to give it to Billy’s sister. For the funeral. Can you help with that?”

Phryne nodded and Martin turned, walking slowly but compliantly back to the cells.

Jack walked over and closed the door. “So what do you think?”

“I’m inclined to believe him.”

“Perhaps. He’s obviously a practiced liar, though. Could just be quick on his feet.”

“I suppose, but he seemed genuine when he spoke of his friendship with Billy.”

“Even if he was, he wouldn’t be the first person to kill a friend,” Jack reminded her.

“No.”

“Of course, if he is innocent, that very inconveniently brings our list of suspects down to zero.”

“True.”

“What about Michael Barton?” Jack asked.

“Molly’s sweetheart? What’s his motive?”

“Perhaps Billy was in the way? An obstacle to the sister’s affections?”

“I doubt it, Jack. Based on our brief interaction with him yesterday, that young man didn’t consider Billy an obstacle to anything. His reaction was that of any grieving family member. Plus, as far as we know, he was nowhere near the scene of the accident that day.”

“Yes, you’re right, I’m grasping at straws.”

“Well stop it, that’s my move.” Phryne smiled and reached out for his hand. He came to her willingly and began rubbing small circles on her wrist with his thumb. “I understand though. It’s a tad frustrating to have a universally beloved victim.”

“Which brings us back to means and opportunity. I think given the signs of an altercation we found in that office, it’s safe to assume the killer followed Billy from the base in a car.”

“So, who was at the base with access to an automobile?”

“I suppose we need to go back to ascertain that,” Jack said frowning. “Come on, let’s get it over with.”

Phryne stood but made no move towards the door. “What are you going to do about Robert Martin if he is innocent of Billy’s murder?”

“Send him back to Sydney. He’s a material witness and there are warrants out for him.”

“Jack -”

“No, Phryne, stop. You know I’m willing to work as much as I can within the system, but I’m not going to circumvent a friend and fellow officer for the sake of a gang member who stole his dead cousin’s identity. I’m sorry, Phryne, but that’s final. There are times when exceptions can’t be made.”

“You’re not though. Sorry, I mean.”

“No, I’m not.” He sighed and looked away from her. “But I still wish it didn’t disappoint you.”

Phryne walked over and took his hand once more. “It doesn’t. But I don’t think anyone wins this way.”

“Perhaps not. And for that I _am_ sorry.”

Phryne leaned in and gave him a quick kiss on the cheek. It was a rare thing for her to do at the station, but sometimes exceptions could be made.

“Come on Jack, time to go wing walking.”

\---------------------------

The ride to the base was quiet, both detectives lost in their own thoughts. They weren’t fighting, exactly, but there were times when the subtle differences in their world views collided rather forcefully and it could make for, at the very least, awkward conversation. Especially when en route to see her former lover. Jack wished he could say that this was the first time such a situation had occurred. It was not. It was not even the first time this year. Her old friends really did have a way of finding trouble. Jack supposed he shouldn’t be surprised - they had found her after all.

When they were a few minutes out, Phryne turned to face him fully. “Jack, I want you to promise me you’ll be civil to Compton.”

“I’m always civil, Phryne. I’m a civil servant.” 

“Ha ha. You know what I mean. For reasons neither of you has made clear to me, he has a way of getting a rise out of you, and I want you to kerb it. I don’t want to have to tell Molly we couldn’t find her brother’s killer because two grown men acted like boys.”

When she put it that way, it was petty and Jack felt foolish. He nodded his agreement to her request.

Once they were on base, they made their way quickly to Compton’s office. He greeted them amicably, if superficially in Jack’s case.

“Phryne, Inspector. What can I do?”

“We suspect the killer borrowed an automobile from the base to follow Billy. So, where would one find an unattended motor car around here?” Phryne asked.

“The motor pool depot, I suspect. It’s really the only place we keep them here. Most of our real estate goes to the planes and the men.”

“Could we see it, please?” Jack requested. Exceedingly politely, Phryne noticed happily.

“Of course.” Compton picked up the phone, requesting someone join him in his office. “I’m arranging a guide for you. One of our Aerodrome Defence Guards. Civilians, but they report to RAAF officers. This one actually works with the construction crew quite a bit so he might be even more useful to your investigation.” 

“Thank you, Lyle, we really appreciate it.” 

“Anything to help.” Then he added in a softer tone, “Just keep the requests official, Dorothy - no midnight break ins, please.”

Jack rolled his eyes and fought the urge to correct Compton’s _clear_ mispronunciation of ‘Phryne.’ Really, what the hell was he playing at, using such an odd nickname for the second time in as many days? But before he could say anything, a young man in his mid 20s with red hair and a sour expression joined them. Compton stood to make the introductions. “Miss Fisher, Inspector Robinson, this is Aerodrome Defence Guard John Fredericks. He’ll take you anywhere you want to go on base.”

“Yes, sir.” Fredericks confirmed.

“Thank you again. We’ll let you know what we find.”

Phryne followed Fredericks out and down the hallway. As Jack was about to walk out the door to follow, Compton stopped him. “So Jack, I hear congratulations are in order,” he said, nodding in the direction Phryne had left. “Probably, anyway. Well, maybe.”

Jack stared at him with more calm than he felt. “I believe _that_ is between Miss Fisher and myself.”

“Probably. Maybe,” Compton replied coolly.

Under his skin, the muscles in Jack’s jaw worked overtime in an effort to keep his composure, mindful of both his position and his promise to Phryne. 

With a nod more curt than civil, but certainly less furious than he felt, Jack quickly turned to leave, almost running straight into Warrant Officer Thompson on his way out.

“Excuse me,” Jack mumbled, walking quickly to catch up with Phryne and their guide and silently cursing all airmen, everywhere.

“Of course, sir,” Thompson called after him as he walked into Compton’s office.

\---------------------------

Fredericks walked the two detectives briskly to the motor pool depot, which was, as most things on the base were, a converted airplane hangar. 

As they walked in, Phryne indicated the door, which was wide open. Jack nodded. Easily accessible then. Damn. Fredericks pointed to a corkboard on the far wall where all the keys were stored. Double damn.

“If you’re authorized to take a vehicle you come here and sign it out,” Fredericks explained. “You sign it back in when you’re done. If the vehicle needs any service or fuel you note it in the return log.”

“Mr. Fredericks,” Jack began, “could someone unauthorized take a vehicle?”

“That would be against protocol, sir.”

“But is it possible?”

“I suppose so, sir. But if ya got caught… I don’t think it’d be worth it, sir.”

“How would you do it, John?” Phryne asked, smiling brightly at the young man.

“Me-e?” he stuttered in surprise.

“Yes, John, you.”

“Oh, I, uh…”

Oh good grief, thought Jack, he was like a caricature of Collins. During his cadetship. At a beach.

“Surely you must know the base inside and out by now,” Phryne said coyly, angling in slightly, an action Fredericks unconsciously mirrored. Jack recognized her strategy and left her to it, leaning against a post off to the side, letting the master work. “I’m sure you’re completely trustworthy, but, just between us, if you decided to, misbehave, how would you liberate a vehicle for a couple hours?”

“Well,” he started, voice cracking slightly, “I guess it wouldn't be too hard to just take the keys from the board and leave the depot. The hard part would be getting off the base unseen.”

“And how would you manage that?”

“I’d probably drive past buildings 15 and 16 along the perimeter - no one’s ever over that way - and leave out the gate that’s been locked up.” He leaned in a bit conspiratorially. “The lock is rusted and you just need to jiggle it to open it. It’s how the lads meet their sweethearts in town when they run out of leave.”

“John, would you say this is common knowledge?”

“Among the men on base, certainly.”

“What about the contractors you’ve been working with?”

“Maybe? Depends on if they were paying attention when they worked next door I guess.”

“Group Captain Compton mentioned you’d been working with them?”

“Yeah, a bit. Whenever Warrant Officer Thompson needs relief or support. He’s with ‘em mostly. The construction fellas call him ‘the nanny’ ‘cuz he’s always hovering about.” Fredericks snorted loudly and then remembered himself and quickly stood at attention. “But he needs to, you see. He’s in charge of security after all.”

“And you help him?”

“Yes, miss. All the Aerodrome Defence Guards report to him. It’s a new program. We were very lucky to be selected.”

“Well I certainly feel safer with you around,” Phryne said with a wink.

“Thank you, miss.” said Fredericks, blushing slightly. “It’s all part of the job.”

Alright, now the kid was stealing his lines. “If you don’t have any more questions, Miss Fisher, perhaps we should inspect the vehicles,” Jack suggested.

The look she shot him screamed “spoilsport,” but she nodded her agreement nonetheless.

Walking past the sign out log, Jack picked it up and looked it over briefly.

“Anything?” Phryne asked.

“Nothing jumps out. I suppose it was too much to hope for that the killer signed out with a note,” Jack responded dryly. He handed the log to a surprised Fredericks. “Here, make yourself useful. Note how long each car was signed out on Wednesday, just in case.”

Fredericks looked at the log like Phryne sizing up a spider.

“Problem, Mr. Fredericks?”

Fredericks looked down and mumbled, “I’m not so good at maths, sir. I don’t think I’d be much help.”

Phryne immediately swooped in, grabbing the log and handing it back to Jack. “That’s alright, John. This is exactly why I keep a Detective Inspector around - he just _adores_ paperwork,” she assured the boy with a wink. Fredericks looked immensely grateful and Jack shook his head, hiding an adoring smile behind the log.

Once Jack was done with the log, Fredericks stood at the front of the building while the two detectives looked over the vehicles. They focused their search on the fronts of the vehicles, looking for any sign of a collision. On her third car, Phryne spotted something and called Jack over. The front of the car was dented slightly and scratched. It was a sturdy car, but even a sturdy car couldn’t drive away from a hit that hard with no evidence. Jack wrote down the rego while Phryne searched the inside of the car, carefully donning gloves before doing so. 

“Nothing,” she confirmed, which surprised neither of them. The killer had had plenty of time to clean up any evidence by now. The only good news is they could almost certainly confirm that the car and killer had both been on base shortly before Billy’s murder. 

\---------------------------

After they had finished at the motor pool depot, they took the long route back to Compton’s office to see if anything else jumped out at them in relation to the case. Phryne seemed lost in contemplation, and stopped at one point to look at one of the buildings thoughtfully. 

“Something of interest, Miss Fisher?” Jack asked.

“No. Well, perhaps. I feel like I’ve seen this before.”

“We’re on a RAAF base, Miss Fisher. The architecture here, like the men, isn't exactly known for its variety,” he remarked, a bit more acerbically than he’d perhaps intended.

“Thank you for your insight, Jack, but as you well know I’m quite capable of judging an erection all on my own,” she shot back, turning quickly and hurrying to catch up with Fredericks, who had gained quite a bit a distance during their conversation.

Falling into step with Fredericks, Phryne began a conversation with the young man. “So, John, tell me, how do you like working for the RAAF?”

“It’s alright. Good pay.”

“And the people?”

“A little high and mighty, some of ‘em. Like they never had a real job.”

“And your boss?” Phryne asked. 

“Thompson’s alright, I guess. Friendly enough as long as you keep in line and don’t question him too much.” At Phryne’s intrigued look, he added, “Likes to be the smartest one in the room if you catch my meaning. Not so unusual around here. Can’t say that’s an experience I’ve ever had though,” he mumbled a little dejectedly. 

“What about Group Captain Compton?” Jack asked, the picture of constabulary professionalism. Fredericks stopped walking to face him, while Phryne crossed her arms over her chest and glared at her partner silently.

“I shouldn’t say, sir.”

“Shouldn’t say what?”

Fredericks looked around to make sure they weren’t in earshot of anyone else before answering. “Word around the base is he’s up for a big promotion. Air Commodore. So he’s been… invested, in things running smoothly around here. And if they’re not, well, he’s pretty quick to make whatever it is go away, one way or another.”

“What are you saying, John? Surely you can’t mean anything untoward?” Phryne asked, but Jack noticed her arms were at her sides once more.

“I’m only repeating what I’ve heard, miss, that’s all.” With that, Fredericks turned and continued walking back to Compton’s office, the two detectives close behind.

\---------------------------

When they arrived, Compton was still meeting with Warrant Officer Thompson. Fredericks clearly didn’t want to interrupt them, so they waited down the hall. It was a slightly tense gathering, Phryne and Jack having an entire conversation through head tilts and raised eyebrows and Fredericks wishing he was anywhere else. The revelation about Compton had certainly thrown Phryne, but for Jack it had waved a red rag at a bull. He was clearly keen to keep digging, but Phryne was urging patience and tact. With her eyebrows. It was a skill few possessed.

When they saw Thompson finally leave, Fredericks practically ran down the hall to deposit them back at Compton’s door and only just waited for Compton’s dismissal to leave altogether.

“So, did you find anything?”

“We’re not sure.” Jack answered quickly, “I’d like to come back tomorrow with some constables to continue looking. With your permission, of course.”

“Well I’m afraid that’s quite out the question. It’s one thing for the two of you to conduct a discreet investigation. It’s quite another to overrun the place with bumbling cadets on a wild goose chase.”

“My constables are hardly -”

“Lyle.” Phryne interrupted firmly. “That’s hardly fair, either to Jack’s men or our investigation.”

“Thank you, Miss Fisher, but neither my men nor I need defending. Our work speaks for itself.”

Phryne made a face very reminiscent of her Aunt Prudence then, and Jack realized he may have made a tactical mistake.

“Be that as it may, Inspector,” Compton continued, “it’s not going to happen.”

“That’s extremely disappointing, Captain. And here I thought you were so good at working with others. What happens if Miss Fisher and I find evidence that needs to be examined off base?”

“We can cross that bridge when we get to it.”

“I see. Well it’s getting late, I’m sure you have business to be getting on with, as do we. Miss Fisher?” With that Jack turned and left, not even sparing Compton a second glance.

“Goodnight to you too, Inspector,” Compton huffed in the general direction of the door.

Phryne made a move to follow Jack out before pausing and turning back to Compton. “Why are you goading him?” she asked, genuinely curious.

“Who says I am?” he asked. At her skeptical look he added, “Maybe I just miss Madagascar. Are you sure the skies are sill clear, Dorothy? Feels like a pretty significant air pocket to me.”

Bloody. Fucking. Similar. 

“Goodnight Lyle.”

Phryne stepped into the hall to find Jack waiting, a strange look on his face. They walked back to the car in silence.

\---------------------------

Once they were past the base’s perimeter, Phryne spoke. “I assume you didn’t tell him about the car because you now consider him a suspect.”

“Got it in one, Miss Fisher.”

“Because of some gossip passed along by a young man sporting a rather large chip on his shoulder?”

“For your information, he was my second source on the promotion and subsequent change in behavior. And I thought you of all people wouldn’t judge a source by its cover.”

“You’re making this very personal.”

“And you’re ignoring a viable lead because it paints Captain Feckless in a bad light!”

“You’re being an ass, Jack.”

“How? How? I’m doing my _job_ , Phryne. I might not be holding his hand through it, but it’s not like I’m trying to frame the man. If Billy uncovered something on the base that could jeopardize his promotion, Compton has motive.”

“Jack!” she suddenly shouted.

“What?” he asked, scanning the road for any heretofore unseen hazards.

“The framing! That’s why I recognized it. The window framing on the building we passed - Drew Wilkinson had some of the exact same type in his yard. And I’ll bet a thorough inventory of the rest of the contents of his lot would find a common source.”

“The base. You think Mr. Wilkinson is stealing supplies.”

“I think it’s a distinct possibility. And if he was, and Billy found out…”

“That’s also a very good motive. I’ll bring him in first thing tomorrow.”

“Good.”

They rode the rest of the way in silence. They weren’t fighting, exactly, but they were very close.

When they pulled up to City South, Phryne turned to face Jack.

“Are you coming over tonight?”

“No, I think I’d better head home. I haven’t really spent any time there in the last few weeks and the place could use an airing.”

It was an excuse, but it was also true, so Jack didn’t feel too guilty using it.

“Alright. I’ll see you tomorrow then,” she said, determined not to sound hurt. She mostly succeeded, and his own bad mood kept him from noticing what remained.

“Yes. Good night, Miss Fisher.”

“Good night, Jack.”

Phryne got out and walked the few feet to her car. He waited until she had started the engine before pulling away and driving down the street in the direction of his home.

Phryne sighed. He really was being an ass, she thought. She considered her options for the evening.

Then she turned her car around and headed back to the base.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Historical Notes of Interest (to the author and probably no one else):
> 
> In 1929, the RAAF began to establish an Aerodrome Defence Scheme, primarily utilizing aircrafthands to provide local defence of airfields, although it was initially limited in scope. Training began in 1931, including in both anti-aircraft and ground defence roles. In 1939 it was directed that the scheme be expanded to include all units and stations. Today they are known as the Airfield Defence Guard. Lest you worry this fic isn’t 100% historically accurate. ;-)
> 
> William Bligh was an officer of the Royal Navy, and the infamous “Mutiny on the Bounty” occurred during his command of HMS Bounty in 1789. He probably wasn't a terrible captain per se, but in context Jack totally means it as an insult. ;-)


	9. Old Friends

Jack woke up the next day early and alone. And _cold._ For such a tiny person she really generated quite a lot of heat, and he’d become accustomed to her warmth in the mornings. And her smile. And her eyes. Especially first thing, when she was sleepy and soft and all the love she felt for him shone through them like a beacon. 

_Damn_ , he thought, sitting up and scrubbing his hands over his face, _I am an idiot_.

Certain he wasn’t going to fall back asleep, he rolled out of bed and headed to the bathroom, showering quickly and preparing himself for the day. When he was shaved and pomaded and dressed, he walked to the kitchen and surveyed his supplies, which, as it turns out, were sparse. He really hadn’t been home in a while. He made some tea and ate a few stale biscuits from the tin. After he tidied up the tea things, he headed out to his garden. It was late in the season, but there were three or four white peaches still ripe on the tree and he picked all of them, placing them in a wicker basket for transport. 

White peaches were Phryne's favorite all on their own, but to ‘sweeten the deal’ as it were, he _could_ offer to make her a cobbler with them tonight. Mr. Butler was by far the superior chef, but for some reason she found the sight of Jack in an apron irresistible and he could work with that.

He puttered around the house for a bit after that, tidying and at least creating the illusion that the place was lived in. After a while he looked at his watch. It was probably still too early for her to be up, but he didn’t want to wait anymore to see her so he packed the peaches up and headed over to Wardlow. And if, while he waited for her to rise, he could enjoy a real breakfast, well, so be it.

When he arrived it was just gone eight thirty, and the kitchen was bustling. Mr. Butler was cooking, Jane, home for the weekend, was reading one of her university texts while absentmindedly munching toast, and the cabbies were helping themselves to what Jack assumed was at least their second cup of tea. It was not an unfamiliar sight. But usually Jack was the first at the kitchen table, already enjoying his tea and toast before anyone arrived. He felt a pang of something unpleasant at the realization that his exile last night had been self-inflicted. He really needed to move past whatever was needling him about this case, and quickly.

When Jack walked into the kitchen, Mr. Butler greeted him warmly. “Good morning, sir. I’m afraid Miss Fisher isn’t awake yet.”

“I’m not surprised, when she got in,” Jane said, nose still in her book.

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“Did she get home late, Jane?” Jack asked, a little surprised. He’d dropped her back at her car a little after eight last night.

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Jane looked up at that. “Were you not with her?”

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Four years ago that remark would have made Jack blush and stammer and avoid eye contact with everyone in the kitchen for a week. But that was before. Before she’s asked and he’d answered, coming after her from half a world away with words and patience and a fiery passion he was pleasurably surprised to still find within himself. Before minor quarrels and learned boundaries and major quarrels and necessary adjustments. Before Shakespeare during stakeouts and Rilke after raids. Before he’d learned it could be awfully fun for both of them to let her pick a ridiculous argument every now and again. Before he’d healed enough to let her see the scars. Before she’d healed enough to trust him completely. Before her found family had become his steadfast friends. Before one otherwise unremarkable night, when she’d fallen asleep with her head on his shoulder, and he’d realized, with sudden clarity, that he would never again love anyone the way he loved her. 

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All in all, Jack much preferred “after.”

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So today, instead of blushing, Jack just reached past Bert for a scone and scanned the table for the jam. Breakfast beat blushing every time.

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“No, Jane, I’m afraid I parted ways with Miss Fisher at the station last night, right after we returned from the base. It was just gone eight, I believe.”

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“Huh. Well, I was reading late last night and heard her come in around two.”

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“You shouldn’t stay up all night reading, Jane,” Jack gently admonished. It was probably the millionth time he’d said as much to her over the course of their acquaintance.

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“Remind me, Inspector, which one of us is the kettle and which one is the pot in this exchange?” Jane responded sassily.

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Jack just shook his head. Even he had to admit he didn’t have the moral high ground in this debate. She’d caught him one too many time in Phryne’s library in the middle of the night looking for a book. He never mentioned the nightmares that he was prone to and he never asked about hers. They just read, side by side, until sleep or morning arrived.

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“Fine, fine, don’t listen to the old man. I’m just looking out for the household. If you catch cold you’re likely to bring us all down. And what would we do without Mr. Butler?”

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The older man smiled as he continued prepping what looked like Lobster Mayonnaise for lunch. “I’m sure you’d all carry on perfectly well in my absence, sir.”

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“Well let’s all pray we never find out.” Jack replied.

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“Too right,” Bert added, which earned him a look of surprise from Jack. “What?”

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“Nothing, nothing.” Jack responded with a smile. Bert glared at him but continued drinking his tea in silence. “I’m going to see if the lady of the house might be joining us soon. Jane, gentlemen,” he said as he left the room.

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Jack made his way to the hallway only to find Phryne on her way down the stairs.

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“Good morning, Miss Fisher.”

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“Good morning, Jack. Did you sleep well?”

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___“I think you know I didn’t.”_ _ _

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“Well I can’t think whose fault that might be.”

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“It is entirely mine, Miss Fisher. But I have aired out the house and don’t believe it will need my attentions again for quite some time. If however, anything else were to require my attentions -” 

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“I’ll be sure to let you know, Jack.”

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It was a perfectly Phryne response, but slightly cooler than usual. He supposed he deserved that. 

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“In the meantime, I brought you something,” he said. He lifted the basket he had brought over to the house to show her his bounty and her eyes lit up, immediately defrosting her demeanor.

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"A peace offering, Jack?"

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"A snack, Phryne. Though it could be dessert if you play your cards right and Mr. Butler doesn't require the cooker tonight."

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"I'll see that he doesn't. And I have a treat of my own for you in the study." At Jack's raised eyebrow and subtle look towards the kitchen, she shook her head, "It's paperwork, Jack. Though I'm pleased to know you're not above being lustfully compromised in my study during breakfast."

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" _After_ breakfast, Miss Fisher. Priorities."

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Sassy Jack was one of her favorite Jacks and so there was nothing for it. She pulled him down for a kiss that demonstrated exactly where she should be on his priority list, and given his response, he agreed.

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Pulling away, sooner than she’d have liked but they _were_ trying to catch a killer, Phryne took his hand and led him down to the study. 

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“Here,” she said, picking some papers up off the desk once they were in the study. “I went back to the base last night after you dropped me off and -”

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“You did what?”

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“Went back to the base. There was clearly more there, and I thought Compton might be more forthcoming when speaking with me alone. Which he was. You’re welcome.”

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Jack pinched the bridge of his nose and rolled his lips together to keep from saying something snide. He took a breath and looked at the papers she was showing him.

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“These are the construction project purchase orders for the last three months. See how the crew chief has been requesting about 5% more on each subsequent order? But according to Thompson’s notes, they’ve been completing about the same about of repairs each week. So why would they need more supplies each time?”

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“You think Drew Wilkinson was ordering extra supplies so he could steal them?”

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“I’m sure of it! We need to interview him today.”

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“Well, as it happens, I set that in motion last night. Mr. Wilkinson will be at the station at 10am.” 

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“Wonderful!”

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“Did you learn anything else on your solo sojourn?”

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“I found out why Compton was in such a foul mood after Thompson’s visit.”

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“Was he? Seemed like his regular sparkling personality to me.”

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“Very funny, Jack. Apparently there have been some…. incidents, at other RAAF bases up the coast. Prototypes of weapon systems disappearing, a convoy of supplies hijacked, a listening post up north compromised, that sort of thing.”

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“I can see why Compton would be unhappy about that.”

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“Indeed. And he was briefed about another something yesterday, although he wouldn’t give me the details.”

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“No? Is Mata Hari losing her touch?”

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“No touching at all, Jack, sorry to disappoint,” she responded with an air of true irritation. Really, this attitude of his was becoming truly bothersome.

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“I never meant to suggest there was,” Jack said honestly. _Fuck _. He needed to get a grip on this mood he was in; that had been uncalled for. “So, shall we head over to the station to meet Mr. Wilkinson?”__

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“Just as soon as I’ve had my coffee, Jack,” she said, putting the papers in an envelope for transport to City South.

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“Yes, Jane mentioned you got in quite late. I imagine you must be tired.”

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“Well, you know how it goes, Jack. Once you start reminiscing…” She turned and headed down the hall with the papers, annoyed at herself for baiting him and annoyed at him for inspiring such a petty response from her. She could hear him following her down the hall, a slight shuffle in his step that he only seemed to get when he was feeling particularly low, and decided to be the bigger person and offer her own olive branch. “Anyway,” she added putting the envelope by the front door and turning back to him, “I wasn’t in a hurry to get home. I never sleep as well without you. Better friendly conversation than tossing and turning.” She straightened his tie, a move that was as familiar to both of them by now as breathing, and then followed the line up to look at his face.

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“I’m sorry,” he said simply.

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“You needed to get your house in order; I understand.”

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“I’m sorry I’m being an ass. It’s… there’s a new Chief Superintendent.” Which was true. And was certainly affecting his mood. Not as much, perhaps, as some other matters that were troubling him, but he wasn’t ready to discuss those. Not now. Maybe not ever.

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“Ahhhhh,” she said. She knew what would come next.

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“I’m scheduled to join him at his club next week. Time to charm the new boss. I know I get a bit testy when this happens, but…. god, I hate it.” And he meant it. He really did.

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“It’s not an unheard of part of the job,” she reminded him.

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“No. But it used to be. For me.” 

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The statement was simple enough, but there was a lot behind it. Jack before Phryne didn’t care about promotion or prestige or glory. He did his job, and he did it well, and that was good enough to stay where he was without engaging in Russell Street politics. But Jack after Phryne cared about, well, Phryne. Specifically, he cared about working with Phryne, an arrangement that could be revoked at any time by a new Chief Superintendent or Deputy Commissioner who either didn’t like him or didn’t like her or didn’t like the idea of their partnership. So now Jack had to engage politically, at least at the beginning, in order to tip the scales away from that outcome. And he hated it. And she knew it.

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“I’m sorry,” she said, sincerely.

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“It’s worth it,” he responded. And he meant that too.

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“Come on,” she said, pulling him down for a quick kiss before releasing the tie altogether. “Let’s get me some coffee and you,” she studied him intently for a moment, “a _third_ breakfast, and then hustle ourselves down to the station.”

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He followed her into the kitchen to find Jane gone, off to a friend’s house, replaced with a very tired looking Mrs. Collins.

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“Dot! What on earth are you doing here? You’re supposed to be home with the new baby for another two weeks.”

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“Yes, miss. I am. I was just bringing Annie by. Bert and Cec were kind enough to offer to mind her for the day.”

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“Oi, we’re not MINDING her. I’m not a bloody nanny. It’s an apprenticeship. She’s gonna be learning the business.”

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From her perch next to her mother, three-year-old Annie Collins looked up from her scone just long enough to give her Aunt P a big smile and a wave before returning to the very important task of pulling all the raisins out before consumption.

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“We’re minding her, miss.” Cec whispered to Phryne.

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“And where is young Johnny?” Phryne asked her former companion and current business partner.

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“With Hugh. His shift doesn’t start for a couple of hours yet and he wanted to spend some time with the baby before he left. Speaking of Hugh, he was telling me about this case you’re working now. How are things going?”

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“Slowly, I’m afraid. Though we have a solid lead to follow today. Perhaps we’ll crack it wide open.”

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“Hugh says Group Captain Compton has been assisting you with your inquiries,” Dot remarked.

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Phryne glanced over at Jack, who she noticed had suddenly taken a very keen interest in his tea.

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“Yes, Dot, everyone at the base has been assisting us. We had our own guide yesterday and everything.”

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“You’re not worried, miss? With a possible killer lurking about?”

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“Oh, I believe we’ll be fine, Mrs. Collins,” Jack interjected dryly. “What with young Mr. Fredericks and the Aerodrome Defence Guards to protect us. Just so long as there’s no maths involved.”

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“Be nice, Jack, you put the poor boy on the spot. He was blushing so hard his complexion matched his hair.”

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“Wait, are you talking about John Fredericks?” Bert asked, suddenly interested in the conversation. “‘Bout so high, red hair, face like a weasel, can’t add to save his life.”

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“I don’t know about the weasel bit, but otherwise that sounds like our man. Do you know him?” Phryne asked.

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“Yeah, we know him,” Cec replied with an air of resignation.

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“Bloody traitor to the cause, he is!” Bert added, with considerable outrage.

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“Language, Bert,” Dottie reprimanded with a pointed look to Annie.

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“Can you say more, Bert?” Phryne asked.

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“The family emigrated from Russia in 1919 and John grew up as loyal a member to the party as you ever saw. Until the work started drying up in ‘31. Then he got soft. Started taking jobs he shouldn’t. Then last year he takes up with those bloody air force defence fellas. Military police, they are. Oppressors of the widow and orphan, the lot of ‘em. Broke his dad’s heart. ”

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“I notice his dad doesn’t mind the cash John sends home,” Cec added quietly.

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“Oi! Just because he don’t burn the money, doesn’t mean he approves. It’s a damn tragedy.”

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“Language, Bert,” Dottie reminded.

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“Oh you’re just sore ‘cuz he hasn’t been by the pub at all for you to swindle,” Cec countered. He turned to Phryne. “When it came time to settle up for the night, Bert would stick ‘em with more than his share ‘cuz he couldn't add it up properly.” 

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“Really, Bert?” Phryne tsked. “That hardly sounds like fair social ownership.”

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“Well we’re not there yet, are we? I was providing the kid an education.”

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“About the importance of maths, or the perils of a capitalist menace?” Jack asked dryly.

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“Why can’t it be both? Weren’t my fault neither lesson took. Bloody traitor.”

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With a resigned sigh, Dottie gave up on Bert’s vocabulary and took Annie out of the room to clean her hands in the lavatory.

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“And by the way,” Bert added, “It’s Ivan to his friends. Not that he has many of those anymore. He only started going by John a few years back.”

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“Oh cut the kid some slack, Bert, would ya? He’s trying his best. And you and the old guard aren’t making it easy,” Cec admonished.

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Jack took Phryne aside, while Cec and Bert continued their argument.

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“Perhaps we should look into Mr. Fredericks, Phryne. If he was as loyal to the cause as Albert believes, maybe he still is.”

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“I think that’s unlikely Jack, given his nerves during our visit, but you’re right it’s worth a look. I’ll phone Compton and ask him to put aside John’s personnel file for our next visit.”

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Jack ignored the pang of irritation that plan ignited and nodded instead.

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“Good. Give me five minutes and then we’ll head over to the station.”

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Grabbing another slice of toast, Phryne walked into the hallway, where Dot was waiting.

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“Where’s Annie?” Phryne asked, not seeing the young girl with her mother.

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“She’s on the front porch, counting cars,” Dot said, then added with a grin, “Good for her apprenticeship.”

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Phryne smiled, walking past Dot to sit next to the phone, rifling through her contact sheet for Compton’s direct line.

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“Miss? Can I ask you a question?”

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“Of course, Dot. What’s on your mind?”

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“Oh, well, it’s just… some of the things Hugh’s mentioned about the case. I couldn’t help but wonder, if perhaps, it might be a bit upsetting for you.”

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“In what way Dot?” Phryne asked, bristling slightly. She had not fully gotten over her uncharacteristic breakdown the other evening and she didn’t like the idea that somehow others might know about it. “I believe I’m always completely professional on my cases.”

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“Of course, miss, it’s just that, well, if you _were_ feeling a little sad, because your client is a young woman who lost her little brother, I would understand. Anyone would. I’m probably being silly, but I thought perhaps you might miss her a little more… acutely, during a case like this. Your sister, I mean. It makes me miss her more, and I didn’t even have the honor of knowing Miss Janey. And I know you’re always very professional, and hardly ever need our help, but if, maybe, you did need something right now, _anything_ , it would be my privilege to help you. So please, just, promise me you’ll let me know. If there is anything, I mean. Because I would do anything to make you less sad, Miss Phryne. And I’d hope, by now, you’d let me.”

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Dot paused, and finally took a breath, and Phryne, having replaced her defensiveness with appreciation halfway through the younger woman’s speech, took Dot’s hand in hers.

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“Thank you, Dot,” she said quietly. “I can’t think of anything just now, but I promise, if I do I will let you know.”

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“Thank you, miss,” Dot replied with genuine gratitude. Then she leaned down, squeezed her mentor’s hand, and placed a kiss to the top of her head, leaving behind a new understanding and a pale pink lipstick stain on Phryne’s forehead.

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\---------------------------

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After she had called Compton and arranged for the file to be pulled, Phryne collected Jack from the kitchen - where he was attempting to referee an argument between Bert and Cec that had somehow progressed to which footy team Stalin would barrack for - and headed to the station. There they met a very sweaty Drew Wilkinson, very early and very nervous for his interview. 

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Without discussing it, Jack and Phryne agreed to let him sweat it out a little more, literally, alone in the interrogation room as they compiled the paperwork from the base and then filled out the day’s Cryptic Crossword to kill some time. It would have been a completely domestic activity, had it not involved quite a bit of competition and ultimately a wager between the two detectives regarding the answer to _7 Across_ that the censors would never have allowed in _any_ paper. Finally, they exited Jack’s office and, a little over 40 minutes after they’d left him, Jack and Phryne joined their suspect in interrogation.

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As it turned out, Drew Wilkinson was many things, but a criminal mastermind was not one of them. Once they confronted him with the requisition forms, not to mention Phryne reminding him she’d actually seen the stolen goods at his house, he folded like a day old newspaper. 

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“I’m so sorry! It’s this bloody depression. I’ve got 10 men depending on me for work, and I’m always one missed payday from having to lay them off! I used to have a crew of 15 you know. I figured, a big operation like the RAAF, they’d never notice a few bob in supplies gone missing and I could put some away for a rainy day.” He laid his head in his hands and took a deep breath. “But it was wrong. I know that. I’ve been worried about this day for weeks and I’m prepared to face the consequences.”

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“Is that why you killed Billy?” Jack asked.

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Wilkinson’s head jerked up and he stared at Jack dumbfounded.

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“What?”

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“Billy discovered some criminal activity on base in the last weeks of his life that we believe directly led to his murder. What happened? Did he figure out your scheme and confront you? Threaten to tell the RAAF?”

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“No, I- Billy knew? I, oh god, no. I didn’t want him to know. He must have been so disappointed in me… ”

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“Billy didn’t confront you?” Phryne asked.

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“No! No, if he had I would have offered to give it all back. Billy was like a son to me. I only did it to help him and the other boys keep their jobs. I would never have hurt him. Never! You have to believe me.”

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“I really don’t, Mr. Wilkinson,” Jack responded coolly. “You’ve already admitted to theft. Not such a major leap to murder.”

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“But I could never have hurt Billy!”

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“You drive your own truck to the base each day, don’t you, Mr. Wilkinson?” Phryne asked suddenly.

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“Uh, yes, I do. Why do you ask?” Wilkinson looked at Phryne, then Jack, then Phryne again, clearly trying and failing to make sense of the new direction the conversation was taking.

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“Where do you leave it during the day?”

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“Parked as close to the building we’re working on as possible. In case the lads or I need anything out of it.”

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“So on Wednesday, it would have been near the far side of the base, where you were working.”

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“Yeah, I suppose. What’s this got to do with -”

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“Thank you, Mr. Wilkinson. Jack, a moment?”

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Jack nodded and followed her out of the interrogation room, closing the door behind them.

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“You don’t think it was him,” Jack said; a statement, not a question.

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“Do you?” she asked.

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“No, but I’m curious to hear your reasons.”

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“Very well, Jack. I’ll show you mine if you show me yours.” He shot her a thoroughly unamused look which she cheerfully ignored and continued, “Billy was almost certainly killed with one of the vehicles from the base. Why would a man with access to his own truck, which he was comfortable with and which was closer than the motor pool depot, travel all that way _and_ risk being seen stealing a car from base? It makes no sense.”

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“No it doesn’t,” Jack agreed. “Plus the man is clearly a terrible criminal. I’m surprised he hasn’t spontaneously confessed to Compton already. Throwing some stolen materials in his truck at the end of the day is one thing, but I don’t see him being calculating enough to run down Billy, wipe the car for evidence, and then return to the rest of his crew as though nothing happened.”

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“Agreed. So what do you want to do with him?”

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“I’m going to have to hold him on the theft charges pending word from the RAAF on what they want to do. If, however, someone wanted to have a word with whoever was in charge there, and encourage them to let him simply return the materials rather than pressing charges, I would be forced to let him go.”

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“Well that’s a very detailed hypothetical, Jack.”

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“All wild surmise of course,” he assured her.

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“Of course.” She smiled at him broadly. “Jack Robinson, you keep this up and no one will believe that carefully curated reputation you’ve achieved as dour and unyielding.”

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“As though I had any reputation left at all after so much time with you.”

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“Well if you’d like me to help you cultivate a new one, I could let a select few know about your aptitude at a good waltz.”

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He coughed slightly. “Uh, no, no thank you, Miss Fisher, that’s won’t be necessary.”

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“Have it your way, Inspector,” she teased as she began walking off in the direction of his office. “But if you change your mind I’m more than willing to sing your praises. Provided it’s clear your dance card is full.”

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And then she was gone, almost certainly using his phone to call her “old friend” and really was this his life now? Sighing to himself, he returned to the interrogation room and explained, as gently as possibly, the situation to Wilkinson. He took it surprisingly well. Jack decided his original assessment of the man was almost certainly correct. Unburdened by the theft admission he was calmer and happier, even on the way to a jail cell. How on earth could he have murdered a boy he and his wife had come to love?

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Once Wilkinson was set up in his cell, Jack walked next door to where Oliver/Robert Martin was still being held. 

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“Mr. Martin. I’ve had a word with my colleagues in Sydney. _If_ you’re cleared of William Harris’ murder and _if_ you testify in the gang case, they’ve agreed to drop all the other charges. You’d be free to leave town, start over. Think about it. It’s the best deal you’re going to get.”

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The young man nodded at him but otherwise didn’t respond. 

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Jack considered the men before him: a holding area full of suspects and he didn’t think any of them guilty of the murder. Maybe they’d have more luck with the red ragger’s lead. 

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When he returned to his office, Jack found Phryne seated in his chair, feet propped up on his desk. He wasn’t sure what it said about him that that sight always made him want to lock both doors and break their “never at the station” rule in every way possible. Some ways twice. Phryne would probably have an opinion on that. It’s why he never told her. 

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“Any luck?”

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“He was out. I’ll try again later. What do you have lined up for the rest of the day?”

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“I actually have to testify in another case this afternoon. I would have mentioned it last night but…”

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“Of course.” 

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“You?”

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“I think I’m going to see what I can dig up on young Mr. Fredericks. Then I might visit with Dot. I haven’t spent nearly enough time with young Johnny.”

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“You’re purposefully spending time with a baby?” he asked incredulously. 

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“I’m purposefully taking an interest in my dear friend’s life.”

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“Of course. Please send along my best.”

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“You could stand to visit a bit more yourself. After all, the baby’s not named after me.”

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“Humph,” was his eloquent reply. He still found the whole thing a tad embarrassing. But Collins had been so earnest when asking him and it wasn’t as if they were calling the child “Jack.”

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“Will you be over tonight?”

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“As soon as I’m out of court. No later than half six, I expect.”

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“Excellent! Mr. Butler will have everything ready but dessert. So don’t forget your apron, Jack.” And with that she bounded from the seat and sashayed out of the office leaving Jack to consider dessert fairly thoroughly. 

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An hour later, Phryne once again pulled up to the RAAF base. _I should really think about renting a room here_ , she thought, _I’m here often enough_. Then she grinned. At least the views were nice.

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She had returned to try her luck with Compton in person - he always had more trouble saying no to her face to face, and if he had Fredericks’ file for her to look at already, all the better. She had just parked her car when a familiar silhouette caught her eye. She walked up to Warrant Officer Cal Thompson and was pleased to see a delighted smile on his face at her approach.

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“Cal! So nice to see you again. How are you?”

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“Miss Fisher. Fine. What brings you here today?”

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“Still investigating poor Billy Harris’ death, I’m afraid.”

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The smile disappeared from Thompson’s face. “Yes, of course. Nice kid. It’s a real shame what happened to him.”

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“You were with his crew a lot, weren’t you? Is there anything you can tell me about him?”

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“Nothing comes to mind. Perhaps John Fredericks could be more help. I can ask him to speak with you.”

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“Mr. Fredericks?”

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“Yes, he and Billy were friends, I believe.”

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“He didn’t mention that to us the other night.”

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“No? That’s odd. I saw them talking together a few times. I assumed they’d struck up a friendship. To tell you the truth, I was glad. John’s an odd duck. Doesn’t get along with too many folks. Does a decent enough job following orders, but…”

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“Interesting. Thank you, Cal, you’ve been most helpful.”

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“Anytime, Miss Fisher. In fact, perhaps I could answer some more of your questions tomorrow night. Over drinks? I have Monday evenings off.”

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“Unfortunately, I’m quite busy tomorrow night, Cal.”

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“Another time, then, I hope. I realize I’m not a Group Captain yet, but that’s fine. I’m actually aiming a bit higher than that, Miss Fisher.”

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“Are you now?”

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“I am. And look, I’m already answering your questions. We’re very good at this, don’t you think?” he asked, taking her hand in his to kiss it. “And I believe it’s a lucky man indeed that finds himself interrogated by you.”

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“Well you’re not wrong,” she said with a grin, but removing her hand all the same. “But I’m afraid you will still be disappointed by my answer. Thank you for the offer though. Always nice to chat with a man in uniform.”

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And with that, Phryne waved goodbye and made her way to Compton’s office, with rather a nice spring in her step. Phryne hoped she could persuade Compton to loan her the file. She wanted to bring it with her to Dot’s this afternoon. There was no one better at spotting inconsistencies in paperwork than Dot Collins.

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Court was a disaster. The prosecutor had bungled his questions so badly Jack had had to sneak certain details into answers they had nothing to do with just so they’d be heard. And the barrister for the defense had come at him guns blazing. Jack was a seasoned policeman, and used to intense cross-examinations, but even he’d been led into some verbal traps today and he was smarting from it. So he was less than pleased when Phryne was late to dinner. 

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She’d left word she was interviewing some Union blokes who had known Fredericks before the RAAF and would be home by seven at the latest. At just after eight that evening she returned. 

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Jack had already eaten and retired to her bedroom by then, distractedly reading a book and watching the clock with half an eye. When he heard her open the door he kept his eyes on the page in front of him, though he had no idea what it said. 

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“So sorry to miss dinner, Jack. I was getting some background on our friend Mr. Fredericks from his former associates - who, by the way, have a _very_ unflattering nickname for the poor man - and you know those Union fellows, once they start talking shop there’s no stopping them.”

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“Did you try telling them you had plans?” Jack asked, without looking up from the page. 

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“No. I assumed my plans would understand, just as I understand when said plans get held up. Consequences of the job.” 

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“Fair,” he acknowledged with a head tilt, putting down the book. “I just missed you, that’s all.”

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“I missed you too,” she replied, coming over to give him a quick kiss hello. “But I’m home now.”

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“So you are.”

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“Is it too late for dessert?”

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“I could be persuaded to- what do you have there?” he asked, indicating a large, official looking file she’d removed from her bag. 

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“The official RAAF file on Mr. John Fredericks, which I think you’re going to find _very_ interesting. Since he’s a civilian, Compton let me borrow it for a bit.”

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“You went back to the base? Again?”

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“Well yes, how else was I supposed to get it? And I also talked to him about Mr. Wilkinson. I think that story might actually have a happy ending as Lyle’s quite keen to keep the whole thing quiet, especially-”

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“What were you thinking, Phryne?” he asked, slightly louder than was necessary. 

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“I was thinking it was a lead to pursue, Jack.”

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“This is the second time in as many days that you’ve gone back to the scene of a crime, staffed by no less than two suspects at any given time, without even telling me.”

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“I’m sorry, I didn’t realize I needed your permission to follow a lead,” she said coolly, moving to her vanity to put away the day’s jewelry. 

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“It’s not about permission and you know it! It’s about respecting me as your partner enough to at least inform me what you’re doing.” 

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“You want to talk about respect? How about respecting my instincts, Jack? But no, you’re determined to make Compton a suspect because we were briefly lovers a thousand years ago!”

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“His actions _now_ make him a suspect, and after I pointed that out what’s the first thing you did? Went behind my back to the fucking base without me!”

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“Because you and Lyle Compton seem incapable of being in the same room without sniping at each other. I thought - correctly I might add - that going back alone would yield more fruitful results. More flies with honey and all that.”

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“Oh really? And just how sweet were you with the good Captain?” The moment the question left his lips, Jack regretted it. He didn’t doubt her, not for a moment, and the idea that he’d made her think he did… If he could have shoved the words back in his mouth, he’d gladly have choked on them.

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She stopped and turned to face him. Fixing him with a steely glare and crossing her arms in front of her chest, she spoke quietly and with barely tamped down fury. “You’re going to want to think, very carefully, about the next words that come out of your mouth, Jack Robinson.”

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“I’m sorry, Phryne, that was… no excuses. I’m sorry. It was poor joke.”

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“Jokes are funny. That was insulting.”

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“I didn’t… I don’t doubt you. I _don’t_. This case has me… wrong footed.”

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“Yes, and let’s talk about that, shall we? Ever since you stepped foot on that base you’ve been acting like a jealous pillock. And I want to know why.”

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“You’re a detective. I should think it would be obvious.”

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“Well it’s not. Because you don’t act like this with anyone else I’ve been involved with. For god’s sake, we have dinner with Lin Chung and his wife practically once a month!”

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“Can we please drop this? I really do feel badly about that crack, but I don’t see how flogging this to death is going to help things.”

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“Because you’re not being honest with me! And that’s the one thing we promised each other, Jack, complete honesty. It’s the only way this works. So, honestly, what is it about Compton that has you so riled up?”

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“It’s not… this is ridiculous. Let’s just talk about something else, please!”

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“Not until you tell me why!” 

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“Because he was your partner!” Jack shouted. He ran his hand through his hair in frustration before sitting on the edge of the bed. “He was your partner,” he repeated. “Your first partner. Before me.”

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“Jack…”

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“Look, I know how you viewed your lovers when we met. You cared about them, obviously, because you care about everyone, but you cared about them in a transitory kind of way. It wasn’t solid and it wasn’t meant to be. But us, our partnership, our _working_ partnership. _That_ was solid. Permanent. Something you could build upon. It’s the foundation for everything that came after. It’s what made us special. It’s what made me special. To you. And knowing you had that with someone else…” he looked at his lap, “it’s hard to accept sometimes. We’ve both loved other people Phryne, and that’s good, it’s made us who we are. But this, how we work, I’ve never had that with anyone else. It’s new for me and it’s wonderful. And, perhaps selfishly, I’ve always thought of it as something that’s just… ours. And every time I see Compton, I’m reminded that it’s not.”

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“Oh Jack,” she said, walking over to him to tilt his chin up to face her, “you beautiful idiot.” 

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Jack jerked his face back in surprise at the term, but Phryne ploughed on, turning away and beginning to pace a bit while she spoke.

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“How can you think what I had with him was at all the same as what I have with you? We are our working partnership, Jack, of course, but we’re so much more as well. We’re _partners_ , true partners in everything. And I adore that! You challenge me and I challenge you and we _make each other better_. Partly because we’re competitive and largely because it’s fun and a little bit because that’s what happens when you want to prove you’re worthy of the person you love.”

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He looked at her skeptically. “I find it hard to believe you’ve ever thought yourself unworthy of anything.”

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“Well believe it, because I’m a goddamn human being who has doubts just like everyone else. I don’t have them often, because frankly I’m fabulous, but there you have it.” She stopped pacing and came to stand before him. “My point is, we’re in this together. All of it. Jack, I _love_ working with you. And I know you love working with me. It’s why, despite your general abhorrence of police politics, you’re willing to humor and cajole and placate every new Chief Superintendent and Deputy Commissioner that comes along, to ensure we can _keep_ working together. And I appreciate that effort, I do. But I never want you to think it’s all we have. If this new Chief Superintendent says no, and we can’t ever work together again, we’ll still be partners. I’ll still love you. I love you right now even though you’re being an absolute ass. For the record, Inspector, I happen to love you like I’ve never loved anybody.”

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“Save Mac,” he murmured, half out of habit and half in a feeble attempt at a joke.

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“No, not ‘save Mac’, because how I love her is very different from the way I love you, which you should be bloody grateful for, because otherwise we’d have run off together years ago and you’d be sulking over dead bodies all by yourself.”

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He laughed softly, starting to come out of his mood and beginning to realize how baseless his worries had been. “Probably. It would certainly be a quieter life though. I’d get a lot more reading done.”

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“Oh yes, terribly rude of me to interrupt your precious leisure time with all this repartee and sex. A thousand apologies, Inspector.”

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“What have I told you about apologizing?” He pulled her back down to the bed to sit beside him, twining their fingers together in a silent apology of his own. Phryne swung her bent leg onto the bed so she could face him and took his other hand as well. 

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“I’m not going to indulge this jealous streak, Jack. It’s beneath us both and I think you know that, so I will save you from yourself and move on. What I will say, for the _last time_ , is that you have nothing to be jealous of. Yes, Compton and I worked together. And yes, a long time ago he saved me. But we weren’t partners. We weren’t equals. This, us, is new for me too. And it _is_ special. You and me, Jack, we save each other.”

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Jack pulled her hand up to his lips and kissed it. She gently removed it from his grasp and reached up to brush the tousle of hair she loved more than she’d ever admit from his forehead. Then she moved her hand down his face, shoulder, arm, hand. He pulled her to him and she rested her head on his shoulder, still touching his hand. She was gently tracing the tendons, when he asked her the question he’d been thinking about for days.

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“Before we drop this entirely, and you graciously forget my stupidity, can I ask - why has he been calling you Dorothy this week?”

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“Ah. Yes. I was wondering when you’d ask about that. It’s a bit of a private joke, I guess? It’s from the days of our…”, she waved her hand around vaguely.

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“Low-key missions?” Jack supplied helpfully.

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“Yes, those. Anyway, I had a book - well, actually the story goes back a few years before that. One of the first books I bought with my brand new “allowance” when we moved to England was _The Wonderful Wizard of Oz_. It’s an American book, do you know it?”

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“I do.”

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“Then you’ll know why I wanted to be Dorothy the moment I read it. A cyclone carries an unhappy girl off to a magical land? That was my fantasy! Except I, unlike Dorothy, would never have left Oz. I _loved_ that book. I took it everywhere. It became almost a talisman for me. I kept a copy with me for luck in France, and did the same when I was flying with Compton. So when we crashed on Madagascar, I had it with me. While we were there, we filled some of the time reading it aloud. Eventually Dorothy became something between a nickname and a term of endearment.”

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Jack carefully ignored the word “some” and remarked, “I don’t know what you mean, _Miss Fisher_.” She smiled at that and rolled her eyes at his sentimentality. “But he didn’t call you Dorothy the last time we worked together.”

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“He did. Just not when anyone else was around,” she said, avoiding his eyes. Ah, he thought, red toes instead of silver shoes.

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“So why do you think he’s using it so freely now?”

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“I don’t know, but I suspect it has something to do with our,” she glanced briefly at her hand, “newfound understanding. I don’t think he was entirely thrilled by it. I may not have had the same thing with Compton that I have with you, but we did have _something_ , and knowing that’s over for good… well, being given up can hurt, that’s all.”

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Jack could see in her eyes the memory of a declined drink and a burnt stocking and he held her that much closer to try and dispel it.

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“I suppose I can understand that,” Jack conceded. “If all I had of you was memories, I’d never stop reliving them.”

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“Liar. But sweet.”

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“So do you still keep a copy of the book?” he asked, trying to turn the conversation back to a less fraught subject.

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“No. I mean, I think I still have it somewhere, but I don’t keep it with me the same way I did. I think, after everything that happened - Madagascar, Paris, the War - I decided it was time to make my own cyclone. Swept myself away to see the world and never looked back. I didn’t need the fantasy after that and - oh!”

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“What?”

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“I just realized, in the end I _did_ stay in Oz. A different Oz, of course, but still a magical place of sorts. I suppose that means I’m living my fantasy, Jack,” she said with a roll of her eyes and a smile that betrayed her attempts at making light of her admission. 

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He kissed her temple and whispered, almost too softly for her to hear, “Me too, Phryne.”

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She turned to him then with a wicked look in her eye. “Well if you’re not too tired, I _could_ be persuaded to live another.”

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“You know, Miss Fisher, we were just having a very sweet moment here and then you had to go and ruin it with your carnal desires.”

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“Is that why you’re unbuttoning my blouse?”

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“I’m sure I don’t know what you mean. Move your arm a bit to the left.”

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“You know,” she said, obliging him and beginning to work on his tie, “there’s a lot to be said for private jokes. I mean, who but us knows what a ‘good waltz’ really means? My aunt certainly doesn’t, or she’d be scandalized at dinners.”

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“That’s because you insist on waxing poetic about it all the time. She probably thinks we’re obsessed with dancing… or Johann Strauss.”

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“It’s not - the buttons are on the side, darling - my fault she doesn’t know our code. I, for one, think I’m being very obvious when - Jack!” she shouted.

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“Phryne, I appreciate your enthusiasm, but I haven’t _done_ anything yet.”

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“No, I’ve just had a thought!” Phryne jumped up and began redressing, causing Jack to stare at her in bewilderment. “We need to call Molly Harris!”

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“Now?” he asked.

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“Yes! Hurry up!” She finished dressing enough to go back downstairs and waited impatiently while he did the same, grabbing his notebook off the side table before rushing from the room, Jack close behind.

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Downstairs, she flipped through the notebook, checked a couple of things, and then looked up Molly’s number. The phone rang and Molly picked up a few moments later.

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“Hello?”

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“Molly, it’s Phryne Fisher. I’m so sorry to bother you this evening, but I need to ask you something and it’s important.”

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“Of course. Go ahead.”

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“Molly, does the name ‘John Lackland,’ the number ‘1432,’ or the date ‘February 1917’ mean anything to you?”

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Jack watched Phryne as Molly responded to her question. He knew that look. The game was afoot. He smiled. Living his fantasy indeed.

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“Thank you, Molly. You have no idea how helpful you’ve been. I’ll contact you again soon, I promise.”

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Phryne turned to look at her partner, with a sly smile. “So Jack, how well do you know your English history?”

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\---------------------------

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“I’m sorry, could I get a glass of water?”

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“Water?” Warrant Officer Thompson asked, with a considerable amount of incredulity. The two men still sat across from each other in the interrogation room. It was well after midnight now.

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“Yes,” Jack said. “I feel like I’ve been talking for a terribly long time, and I’m quite parched.”

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“Well, I am sorry about that, Jack, but I don’t think you’ve earned any pleasantries yet. I still don’t know why you’re on my base.”

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“I was just getting to that.”

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“So I gather the sister was helpful?” Thompson asked.

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“A bit. How well do you know your English history?”

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“I know quite a bit about the history of criminal codes. If you’re curious, it doesn’t look good for you.”

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“Ah. Well, John Lackland was better known as King John, a very important English monarch who ruled in the early 13th century. Apparently, Billy was a bit of a history buff and rather fascinated by him as a boy. ‘John Lackland’ became his and his sister’s code word for whoever was in charge - The King, as it were.”

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“So the young man’s note was about whoever was in charge.”

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“Yes. Miss Fisher believes he’s referring to Billy’s boss, Drew Wilkinson.”

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“Makes sense.”

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“But how did he follow Billy off the base? No, I think it was someone who could slip away unnoticed. Someone more comfortable with the workings of the facility.”

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“And who would that be?”

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“I think…” Jack trailed off. He considered the man before him carefully before continuing. “I think we need to consider Group Captain Compton. He’s the man in charge here, and it would only be natural for Billy to refer to him as ‘The King’. He’s gunning for a promotion, and he’s already proven on previous occasions he’ll go to extremes for both the RAAF and his personal ambition. I believe it’s possible he is involved in some questionable, possibly even illegal, activities designed to improve the image of the base and help him look good to his superiors. If Billy found out, we need to investigate the possibility that Compton killed him to keep him quiet.”

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“That’s quite an accusation. Does Miss Fisher agree with you?”

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“No, actually, she rather vehemently disagrees with me. We,” Jack looked away for a moment, his jaw tightening, and absentmindedly rubbed his cheek as though nursing a fresh sting, “parted on less than friendly terms. She’s probably looking for evidence at the Wilkinson home right now. Which is why I came here. Tonight. I’m looking for evidence that Group Captain Compton is a murderer.”

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“Well, Inspector, did you find it?” asked a familiar voice from the open door.

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Both men at the table turned. Standing there, filling up most of the doorway with a look of undisguised contempt on his face, was Group Captain Lyle Compton.

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**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to leafingbookstea for the info on Phryne’s favorite foods. Her Tumblr series, _Dining with Phryne _, is a delight! :-)__


	10. New Foes

For several long seconds, nobody spoke. Finally, Compton broke the silence.

“Well, Inspector, you didn’t answer my question. Did you find any evidence?”

“I was interrupted,” Jack explained calmly. “Uncuff me and I’ll be happy to keep looking.”

Compton stared at him for a moment. Then, without taking his eyes off Jack, he addressed Thompson, “Leave us, Cal.”

“Sir, I don’t think that’s wise.”

“It’s fine. I’m in no danger; he’s restrained and you’ll be right outside. But right now, Robinson and I need to have a little chat.”

Thompson looked ready to argue the point again, but wisely decided that would not be in his best interest. 

“Very good, sir.” Thompson acquiesced, taking Jack’s gun and pulling the door closed behind him.

“Well, this feels familiar,” Compton observed, taking the seat just vacated by Thompson.

“You have me at a disadvantage, Captain. Last time I had a gun.”

“Last time you had a case. From what I just overheard this is all wild conjecture.”

“There’s reasonable cause to suspect - ”

“Then where’s your warrant, Robinson? For that matter, where’s Phryne?”

Jack took a deep breath before replying. “She’s investigating another lead.”

“Bullshit. She’s not here because she doesn’t believe this insane story you’ve concocted. And she’s right not to. I’m not a killer. I think even you know that.”

“What I know is you’ve been interfering with this investigation from the beginning. And _someone_ on this base is engaged in an illegal enterprise that got Billy Harris killed.” Jack looked at Compton for a long moment, as though considering additional evidence. When he spoke next he seemed to have come to a new conclusion. “You’re right, though, Phryne doesn’t think you’re capable of this. For the record, I disagree, but that also doesn’t make you guilty. And you came here to talk, which puts a point in your favor.”

“Thank you so much,” Compton replied, his words laced with so much sarcasm it was practically visible.

“So, for argument's sake, let’s say you’re not guilty. Before I was interrupted, I found a very high quality camera hidden inside that locker tonight. What do you think it’s being used for on a military base, Captain? Someone in your company is corrupt. Possibly even a spy. If it’s not you, open up an investigation. Prove you have nothing to hide.”

“That is a serious allegation, Inspector, and one to which I take personal offence. I run a tight base. My men - ”

“One of your Aerodrome Defence Guards is a member of the Communist Party. You’ve got a wanted man on the construction crew you hired. Four years ago one your pilots was a former nurse turned aviator and a member of _your staff_ murdered her. Maybe you should dial back the umbrage, _Lyle_.”

“And maybe you should remember where you are, _Jack_. As you say, this is a military base. And military law applies. You’re not guaranteed the same rights here you are out there. You’re looking at a very quick, very quiet disappearing act for this stunt.”

“Not if you let me go. If you’re innocent in all this, prove Miss Fisher right. Billy was killed because he stumbled onto some scheme he believed he needed to stop. Work with me to find out what it was and the person responsible.”

“Responsible for what? What could this young man have uncovered on my base that would have provoked someone into killing him?” Compton asked.

“I’ve been over this and over this in my mind and the only crime I can come up with worth risking a murder charge is another hanging crime.”

“That’s an interesting theory, Inspector. Anything more specific?”

“Truthfully? I think it must be high treason.”

Compton looked grim. “That is a very serious charge.”

“And one worth an investigation. Especially after that business with Rupert Higgins a few years ago. If not by you, by somebody. And I’ll keep going higher and higher up the chain of command until somebody takes me seriously.”

“Well you’ll have to, because I can’t help you, Robinson. You were caught on a RAAF base destroying property.”

“I was following a lead and looking for evidence! Stop being such a bloody useless bastard and intervene! _Do something!_ ” Jack shouted, placing his handcuffed hands on the table and standing in his outrage. 

“Sit. Down.” Compton growled. Jack took a breath and complied. He needed to focus on the pertinent information, not get caught up in the moment.

“I’m trying to catch a _spy_.”

“Do you even hear yourself? You sound insane! Spies and conspiracies and you back on a base you have no business being on!”

“I’m investigating!”

“Outside your jurisdiction. Again! The top brass have long memories, Robinson, they haven’t forgotten your last incursion. For all I know that could be your camera. You’re so desperate for evidence you planted it yourself. Or maybe you’re the one taking photos to try and bring down the RAAF! I don’t know for sure, but whatever it is you’re doing, you’re clearly out of control. You’ll be charged with sedition and held in isolation. If you’re lucky, you’ll be out in five years.”

“Is this about Miss Fisher?”

“Phryne?” Compton asked with confusion. “What’s this got to do with her?”

“Are you letting this play out to get another chance with her?”

“Of course not!”

“Really? Because the way I see it, you could end this right now but you’re not. And the only reason I can come up with is because you have much better chance with her if I’m out of the way.” 

“That’s… that’s ridiculous,” Compton asserted, but as he said it he looked away and wouldn’t meet Jack’s eye. 

“Then help me. Speak to someone. You know I’m not guilty of sabotage.”

Compton looked down, seemingly considering Jack’s plea. When he looked back up his expression was grim. “I’m sorry, I can’t stick my neck out for you. You’re on your own.” 

At that the Group Captain stood, putting his hat back on as he did. As he turned to go, Jack called out, “If you walk out that door without helping me, she’ll never forgive you.” 

With his back still to Jack, Compton replied, “If I walk out this door, she’ll never know.”

And then Compton was gone.

Jack was alone for only a moment or two before Thompson reentered the room.

“Doesn’t sound like that went very well for you.”

“You heard?” Jack asked.

“And saw,” Thompson confirmed, nodding towards the transparent mirror.

“Handy,” Jack said with a sigh.

“So, where were we?”

“I believe I had concluded my story and you were just about to let me go.” Jack responded dryly.

“You’re funny, Jack. I like you.”

“Thanks. I don’t suppose that means you believe me?”

“You have to admit,” Thompson said, “your story is a little preposterous. Group Captain Compton killed Billy Harris for… what? You’re a policeman, Jack. What’s his motive? Some nebulous activity he was trying to cover up? It’s thin at best.”

“You’re right...”

“I am? Well, that was easy. Does that mean you’re ready to drop this vendetta against the Captain? Because if so, I might be able to convince-”

“It’s not Compton. It was never Compton. It’s so much more obvious. Ah!” Jack shouted, banging his hands on the table in frustration. “How could I miss it???” 

“Calm down! What are you talking about?”

“Motive! Who on this base has the best motive for wanting to hurt the RAAF?”

“I don’t believe anyone on this base-”

“Our resident communist and all around helpful traitor, John Fredericks!”

“What?” Thompson’s face was a portrait of disbelief. “Fredericks?”

“No, think about it - he had access to the motor pool depot. He was around the construction crew all the time. For god’s sake, he’s the one who pointed me at Compton in the first place! And _his_ motive is obvious - he’s trying to take down the RAAF. Oppressors of widows and orphans and all that.”

“Fredericks?” Thompson repeated. “No offense Jack, but the kid’s not sharp enough to steal secrets from a bakery, let alone a military base.”

“That’s what makes him such a bloody genius! He’s been playing us - all of us - this whole time. Convincing his mates he’d taken the job for economic reasons. Convincing us all he wasn't the full quid. Playing towards underestimation. And I fell for it! _We_ fell for it.”

“Jack, I-”

“No, I’m sorry, I don’t mean to put this on you. He fooled everyone.”

“On me?” Thompson asked.

“You hired him, didn’t you? And he outsmarted you, just like he outsmarted everyone else.”

“He didn’t-”

“Look, don’t take it personally. I’ve seen a lot of genius crims in my time, but honestly he might be the best.”

“No, no. There’s _no way_ that- what about Billy’s message? The King or whatnot. How could that possibly mean Fredericks?”

Jack paused, thinking it over. “Yes, that does present a - oh, oh! Were Billy and John Fredericks friends?”

“A bit, I guess. Why?”

“Because according to Miss Fisher’s research, Fredericks’ ex-friends in the Union now call him the Little Czar as a joke - a crack about his height and political fluidity apparently. That could easily be what Billy meant.”

“Assuming Fredericks told him.”

“Of course he told him. It would have added beautifully to the narrative Fredericks was creating. Bloody damn genius.”

“He’s not.”

“Yes, he is. And I can prove it! Let’s go down to the lockers again. I’ll bet anything we’ll find more of his equipment there. Then we can arrest him together. Think about it. It would go a long way towards overcoming any concerns about how he outsmarted you.”

“Look, no one outsmarted me, mate!”

“Of course he did, he outsmarted everyone! At the end of the day, Fredericks is probably the most clever person on this base.”

“Look, it’s not Fredericks. It was _never_ Fredericks. It’s me!”

“What’s you?”

“The mastermind! The _crim genius_! This was my fucking operation and I won’t have you giving credit to some halfwit imbecile!”

“You?” Jack asked, sitting back in his chair.

“Yes.” Thompson snarled.

“I don’t understand - did Fredericks recruit you?”

“ _Recruit_ me? Are you serious? Fredericks isn’t even a part of this. He’s a _patsy_! And I’m not a communist or a spy. I prefer… entrepreneur. I’ve found a new business model and I’m turning a profit, that’s all.”

Jack considered him carefully. “I don’t believe you,” he finally decided.

“You don’t believe… _Of course_ it was me. Fredericks was at best a distraction. In a pinch he was a pawn. But he’s NOT a bloody genius.”

“Really? And how do you get the information out?”

“Under the floorboard of one of the motorcars. I just,” he made a waving motion with his hand, “drive the plates right off base.”

“You drove them where? To your contact? That’s fairly foolhardy. What if you were seen together?”

Thompson looked very pleased with himself. “Oh we don’t meet. I take the plates to church.” 

“Church?”

“There a little church in Geelong that takes visitors at all hours. I just leave the plates in the pew rack on Mondays, and on Thursdays my money’s there.”

“I know a tiny blonde that would be appalled by that.” Jack muttered and then was silent for a few moments, clearly waiting for Thompson to add something. “Oh, is that it?”

“I’m sorry, am I _boring you_?”

“Well I once worked a case where the conspirators corresponded by leaving notes in the spine of book. Your way seems a little… obvious, that’s all. You’ve escaped detection so long I assumed you had a more elaborate system.”

“You’re a hard man to impress, Jack,” Thompson accused.

“So I’ve been told.”

“Look, mate, I’ve _perfected_ this little operation over the last year. Do you know how hard it is to pass along classified information on an ongoing basis without getting caught? It’s bloody impossible. But I’ve done it.”

“So how did Billy catch on?”

For a moment, Thompson looked regretful. But the moment passed quickly. 

“He… wandered. I had the movements of every man on this base down to a science. But those construction fellas were wild cards. And Billy was the worst. He’d end up who knows where on his breaks. And apparently, a few times, he saw me collecting information, taking photos, and got suspicious. Talk about bad luck,” Thompson lamented. “I noticed him snooping around the high-security lockers the day before he died. And that last day… he walked in on me taking photographs of some classified reports. I guess he was following me by then. I couldn’t explain my way out of that one.”

“He confronted you, didn’t he?”

“Right after I caught up to him in the office. Told me it wasn’t too late to turn myself in. As if that was ever an option.”

“So you killed him.”

“I didn’t want to. Really. I liked Billy. He was a nice kid. I even offered to cut him in. But he wouldn’t have anything to do with it. And I wasn’t going to hang because he fancied himself a hero.”

“The scale you’re talking about… the time… there’s no way you did this on your own. Who else was in on it? Some of the Aerodrome Defence Guards? Another airman?”

“You make it sound like a conspiracy, Jack. It's really not. Just me and my contact. Less men involved means less chances of being ratted out. And less profits to share.”

“Do you even know what happens to that information?”

“No. And I don't care.”

"You're a traitor to your country!" Jack shouted, a crack in his carefully composed demeanor Thompson immediately pounced on.

"No, I'm a intelligent man who saw an opportunity.”

“So what offers the best exchange rate for honor these days? The yen? Ruble? Silver dollar?”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Jack, I’m a proud Australian. I get paid in pounds.”

Jack leaned back in his chair then and just stared at the man, saying nothing more. The seconds ticked by. Finally, Thompson filled the silence.

“Look, Jack, the War’s been over for years. What’s the harm in sharing a little information with some wealthy folks in Shanghai? Literally _everyone’s_ doing it.”

“So,” Jack began, “you’re the mastermind. Then tell me, what happens next?”

"Well I won’t lie, Jack, your little break and enter tonight threw a wrench in my plans. But I’ve got a way around that. Come tomorrow morning, your partner with the nice pins is going to have all her suspicions confirmed when she finds Harris' journal hidden among the belongings Drew Wilkinson keeps on base.” He patted his inside jacket pocket. “Pity so much of it will have already been ripped out, but hey, still evidence, right?"

"And what happens when I tell her all this?"

"You won't be telling anyone anything, Jack. You'll be dead."

"Will I?" Jack sat back and considered his captor carefully. "I feel fine."

"Sorry, mate, you're about to come down with a bad case of lead poisoning. If it makes you feel any better, I don't want to do it.”

“Just like you didn’t want to kill Billy?” 

“Exactly. But needs must. Come on Jack, we’re taking a walk.”

“Where?”

“Back to the beginning.” Thompson grabbed Jack roughly by the arm and pulled him up. “We’re headed to that locker you were breaking into.”

Jack was silent on the walk back to Building 14, Thompson’s gun at his back, his own gun in Thompson’s pocket. Once they were inside, Thompson let go of his arm.

“Over by the lockers, please, Jack.”

Jack walked slowly to where his crowbar from earlier still lay. A thought occurred to him. “How are you going to explain this to Compton? You had me in custody. Why let me out?”

“I’m not too worried. Compton's not going to want to jeopardize his position with the top brass or his chances with your lady friend by contradicting my very believable story. I’ll say you begged me to bring you back to show me some vital piece of evidence that would vindicate you.”

“And you acquiesced? Tsk tsk, Cal, that must be against protocol.”

“You’re a _policeman_ , Jack. A fellow officer of the law. I wanted to believe you. Surely you can understand that. Sadly, I was wrong and as soon as I took off your handcuffs, you grabbed your gun and attacked me. I had no choice but to shoot.”

“Interesting chain of events. Remove the cuffs and let’s see if you’re right.”

“No, I rather think I’ll remove them once you’re dead. Nice try though.”

Jack glanced down at his bound wrists, tested the give of the handcuffs, and, finding them as unyielding as ever, shifted his gaze to look Thompson in the eye. “You don’t have to do this,” he said quietly. “Think it through. There must be another option.”

For a moment, Thompson seemed to consider Jack’s words. But then he just shook his head and squared his shoulders. His mind was made up. Thompson took out Jack’s gun and tossed it a few feet away from him. Then he took out his own and cocked the trigger. “I really am very sorry about this. I enjoyed our chat, Jack. I wish there was another way.”

And with that, Thompson raised his weapon, aimed it square at Jack’s chest, and fired.

Jack’s last thoughts, before Thompson pulled the trigger, were of Phryne. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In the 1930s, the yen, ruble, and silver dollar were the national currencies of Japan, the USSR and China, respectively. Currency history is a rabbit hole, folks. You can spend DAYS learning about it. Not that I speak from experience…
> 
> According to my research, Shanghai before World War II was China's largest and most cosmopolitan city, known as “The Paris of the East.” It was especially popular with American, British, and Australian nationals and would have been a logical place to pass along intelligence information.


	11. Incalculable

Jack’s last thoughts, before Thompson pulled the trigger, were of Phryne.

It might have been because, as she so often teased him, at his core he really was a sentimental fool. Though he suspected in this case it was far more pragmatic than that; he was simply wondering where the hell she was.

_BANG BANG BANG_

Three shots rang out, loud enough to hurt Jack's ears, but otherwise inflicting no harm. Thompson stopped firing and stared at the gun.

The odds of his gun misfiring once were low, but it happened.

The odds of his gun misfiring twice were beyond remote.

The odds of his gun misfiring three times in a row were frankly incalculable.

Thompson tried one more time, in defiance of his gun, his situation, the odds in general, and Girolamo Cardano in particular.

_BANG_

Nothing.

By now Jack had sprung into action, lunging at the other man at full force. Still handcuffed, he led with his right shoulder, hitting Thompson square in the chest and knocking him down. Thompson, however, was unshackled and managed to roll away before Jack could get in another hit. He grabbed his gun and raised it above his head, ready to bring the full force of it down on Jack's.

"Stop right there, Thompson!"

The voice of Group Captain Compton rang through the hangar.

Thompson whirled around to see Compton, Phryne, Collins, and eight members of the ADF at the far corner of the hanger. Thompson quickly assessed his escape options, and, seeing one door he might be able to get to before anyone else, started running towards it. Phryne saw the door as well and took off at a sprint. When she was almost to an intercept point she dropped to the floor and slid, bringing her leg up just as Thompson passed her, toppling him headfirst into a workbench as she glided gracefully to a stop a few feet away. Thompson lay on the ground for a moment, woozy from the hit, confused by the recent turn of events.

“Still like my pins, Cal?” asked a voice from above and behind him.

Slowly, Thompson stood, holding his head, and turned, finding himself staring down the barrel of a small gold revolver. Behind the gun was the steady arm of Phryne Fisher. Behind her was Jack Robinson. Together they presented a picture of fury and justice with no chance of escape.

Thompson sunk down onto the workbench in defeat, finally ready to accept the odds.

Compton, flanked by Hugh Collins and John Fredericks, approached the trio just as Jack took the cuffs he had been wearing and placed them on Thompson’s wrists. 

“Callum Thompson, you’re under arrest for the murder of William Harris and the attempted murder of Detective Inspector Jack Robinson.”

Compton continued the list, “As well as multiple charges of high treason and sedition.”

“So, who gets him first, Group Captain?” Jack asked.

“I suppose I could flip you for it,” Compton offered.

“Too much paperwork,” Jack decided. “He’s all yours.”

“Excuse me,” Thompson interrupted, “but could someone explain what the hell is going on?”

“Oh, how rude of us,” Phryne purred. “You’re probably terribly confused. Where should we start, Jack?”

“Perhaps with my ‘sabotage’ tonight?” Jack suggested, absentmindedly smoothing down his hair in an attempt to right himself after his tussle with Thompson.

“Oh no, further back than that I think. What about -”

“Hang on,” Thompson interrupted, looking at Jack carefully for the first time and then at his own hands. “You were cuffed. I cuffed you.”

“You don’t hang around Miss Fisher for five years without learning how to get out of a pair of handcuffs,” he replied distractedly, fixing his tie as he spoke.

Phryne’s eyes widened and filled with unmitigated joy at his unintentional admission, which, upon looking up at her, was how he suddenly realized the possible connotation of his words.

“Because of the magic trick! She likes, she likes magic,” he mumbled in his rush to clarify, his ears getting redder by the moment. As it turned out, even after four year there were still a _few_ things that could make Jack Robinson blush.

“She certainly does,” Phryne agreed, and poor Jack suddenly looked like maybe he wished he was still under interrogation. Or shot. Anything but this. Compton took pity on him.

“Perhaps with the phone call, Phryne?”

“Oh. Yes,” she agreed, reluctantly refocusing her attention back on the case. “Everything Jack told you up to that point was true, more or less. But when we called Molly Harris yesterday evening we asked her about three things: the name John Lackland, the number 1432, and the date February 1917.

“I know that. Jack told me,” Thompson grumbled.

“But I told you ‘John Lackland’ meant “The King,” Jack offered, having composed himself enough to participate in the conversation. “It doesn’t. And you clearly didn’t study your English history.”

“You see, Cal,” Phryne practically spat out his name, “when you broke into Billy’s room after you murdered him, you took his journal,” as she said this she reached into his inside pocket and removed the small notebook in question, handing it to Collins who immediately put it in an evidence bag, “which I suspect contains quite a bit about you, but you left the newspaper behind. That was a big mistake.”

“No, I looked at that! There was nothing about me or the base at all. Just some puzzle notes.”

“Actually, that was a code, Mr. Thompson. A code between siblings. You see, Billy’s whole crew referred to you as ‘the nanny’ because of your propensity for hovering about them all the time.”

“So?”

“When they were younger, the Harris children had their own secret language. ‘John Lackland’, otherwise known as terrible King John, referred to their terrible nanny, a Mrs. _King_. It made a certain amount of sense in the way children’s logic often does,” Phryne explained.

“Billy’s notes also contained the word ‘treason.’ That one required no decoding, although we initially misread the 't' as a plus sign. But once we knew _who_ we were looking for, the rest fell into place fairly easily,” Jack continued. “Billy even conveniently told us where to look for the damning evidence against you. ‘1432.’ Upon closer inspection, there were actually small dashes between the 4, the 3 and the 2. We checked with his boss. Another code, though far more common - Building 14, 3 across, 2 down. Construction plans. Billy’s boss was terribly helpful in the end. Very keen to see you hang for murdering Billy. Those dashes usually refer to grid lines, but once we realized you’d need somewhere secure to hide your contraband before transport, we found the spare locker you were using almost immediately. Billy drew us a map right to your hiding spot, Mr. Thompson. And your fingerprints were literally all over it.”

“But, but no. No, I stopped you before you could fully search it! And how could you plan this anyway? You just got here! You said you came straight from the house after calling his sister!”

“He LIED. He’s _been_ lying. Are you even listening?” Phryne asked. She turned to the other men. “Is he even listening?”

“I don’t believe so, Phryne.” Compton responded.

“We’ll be sure to add rudeness to the charges right away.” Jack added, then turned back to Thompson. “Of course we didn’t come straight away after the call, Mr. Thompson. Miss Fisher’s modus operandi might be rushing into harebrained schemes, but mine is methodical planning. So we compromised; we planned for a harebrained scheme.”

“Once we told Captain Compton what we’d uncovered, and showed him the evidence in the locker - _this_ _morning_ , before you interrupt me again, Cal, and please do try to keep up, this is becoming embarrassing - he was more than willing to go along with this little sting operation.”

“Joint maneuvers once again, eh Inspector?”

Jack rolled his eyes good-naturedly and nodded in response.

“What we didn’t know,” Compton continued, “was who you were supplying information to or if anyone else was involved. That’s when Phryne hatched this little scheme to interrogate you.”

“Interrogate… me?”

“You didn’t really think it was the other way around, did you, Cal?” Phryne asked, with saccharine-coated disdain. “Think very carefully about who asked what questions.”

Thompson’s eyes widened as he realized everything he’d told Jack in that room.

“We needed information, so we sent in the best,” Phryne asserted with pride. “Throw in a little macho argument to fully sell the ruse and you were putty in his hands.” Phryne sent a quick smirk Jack’s way to remind him she knew the feeling. Jack pretended very hard not to notice. “Then we just sat back behind the two-way glass and watched the show.”

“And honestly, Thompson,” Compton added, “the idea that I would compromise my ethics over the affections of a woman, I’m insulted.” 

“Well now I’m insulted. I’m worth at least a moral quandary,” Phryne contended.

“If it helps, you cause me one at least once a week, Miss Fisher,” Jack assured her.

“It does a bit, thank you, Jack.”

“And the gun?” Thompson asked, still struggling to make sense of it all.

“They were blanks, Mr. Thompson. In your gun and mine. Miss Fisher has a friend in the movie business who was kind enough to supply us. Apparently,” Jack added dryly, “one of us has a face too pretty to mar with a rogue bullet.”

In response, Phryne offered a knowing smile and a completely unapologetic shrug.

“Who switched them out?” Thompson demanded.

“I did. _Sir_.” Fredericks answered.

“You!” Thompson spat out. “But you’re an idiot!”

“He’s really not,” Phryne said coolly. “In fact, once we looked into John and eliminated him from our suspect list, he became a most helpful inside man, alerting us to your movements today, alerting you to Jack’s presence on the base tonight, and switching out the bullets without your knowledge.”

“Even I can take six bullets out and put six blanks in,” Fredericks assured his former boss.

“That was good work today, Fredericks,” Compton praised, and the young man stood a little taller at the compliment.

“But how did you…” Thompson trailed off. He was suddenly tired of asking questions. It didn’t really matter anyway.

“Because it was so _obvious_ , Mr. Thompson. By design. Mr. Fredericks was supposed to be your fall guy, wasn't he? That's the whole reason you hired him. A red ragger in the RAAF? It beggars belief. We couldn't understand why Mr. Fredericks’ very public communist associations would go unnoticed in his vetting process. They weren’t even in his official file. But then we realized - they hadn't. You’re a clever man, Mr. Thompson. If any of your treachery was uncovered, you'd point out the likely suspect and either see he was tried for treason or disappear in the ensuing confusion.”

“So… it was all a show?”

“And a very convincing one at that,” Compton confirmed. “Bloody useless bastard? Really, Inspector?”

“Too far?” Jack asked.

“No, no, just far enough I’d say. I really thought you might take a swing at me there.”

“I definitely considered it. For verisimilitude, of course.”

“Of course.” 

“I told you he was good,” Phryne added, pride in her partner returning to her tone. “Jack’s got experience on the stage, you know.”

“Really?” Compton asked. 

Jack shot her a look of such unmitigated censure, she almost considering leaving it alone. Almost. But before she could expand on the subject, two of the Aerodrome Defence Guards who had been guarding the perimeter came forward.

“Group Captain Compton, sir!” one of them began. “The Chief Warrant Officer is here. He’s requested transport of the prisoner to the military prison.”

“Very well. Take him away.”

Thompson stood, but didn’t move towards the door. He just stared at Phryne and Jack for a moment before saying incredulously. “Are you serious? Almost a year of this operation, not a _hint_ of suspicion against me… and I was brought down by a childhood game!?”

“You were brought down by a loving sister’s grief, Mr. Thompson. Trust me, it’s a force you cannot possibly comprehend,” Phryne said, all humor gone from her voice. She was every bereaved family member in that moment and the force of her vitriol seemed to make Thompson shrink slightly in fear of her. “Now you’ll hang for it. And I’ll be there to watch you drop.”

When the guards led him away, he didn’t resist.

Phryne watched him go. When the door closed behind him, she turned to the men left on the scene. 

“Well, as they say on the stage, bravo gentlemen. Well done. We really should do this again sometime.”

Compton coughed slightly and turned to Jack. “Inspector, that was, uh, quite a thing you did for the RAAF tonight. Thank you.” He reached out to shake Jack’s hand, and, after only the briefest pause, Jack returned the gesture. “Now,” Compton added, “don’t take this the wrong way, but I hope I never see you on my base again.”

Returning his hands to his pockets, Jack smiled slightly. “Group Captain, the feeling is mutual. And you can take that any way you like.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Historians today disagree as to whether or not he was completely terrible, but John Lackland was definitely not a _great_ king by any standard. He ruled from 1199 to 1216, is the King John from both the Robin Hood legend and _The Lion in Winter_ , and the revolt at the end of his reign directly led to the Magna Carta. Thus endeth the history lesson. Just kidding - there’s more! Exactly what you’re all here for. ;-)
> 
> Girolamo Cardano is known as the "Father of Probability." The more you knowwwwwww.
> 
> Though undiagnosed in the story, John has dyscalculia, a condition which causes difficulty in learning or comprehending arithmetic. It is generally seen as the mathematical equivalent to dyslexia and can occur in people from across the whole IQ range.
> 
> I have been assured by my Antipodean sources that “bloody useless bastard” is the worst thing you can call an Aussie.


	12. Coda

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, here we are at the end. Thank you to everyone who has stayed with this story all the way through. Writing it was a lot of fun and a little bit frustrating and just a _tad_ addictive - thanks for sharing the ride with me!
> 
> So, as they used to say on ST:TNG… “and now the conclusion.”

Phryne was quiet on the ride home, clearly thinking about the evening’s events. Jack didn’t push, just drove them back to Wardlow, deciding the paperwork could wait until morning. 

As they were hanging up their hats and coats he asked, “Nightcap?”

“Upstairs?” she suggested.

He nodded, grabbing the decanter and glasses from the parlour and following her upstairs. 

Watching her move to take off her jewelry, he was reminded of the last time they’d readied themselves for bed in her room. But he could sense it wasn’t the same tonight. There was a calmness to her now that hadn’t been there before. He poured them each a drink and handed her one as she sat at her vanity removing her makeup. He watched her quietly for a few minutes, sipping his drink and letting the stress of the day melt away. When she was almost finished, he tilted his head and considered the woman in the mirror.

“How are you feeling?” he asked carefully, taking a sip of his whiskey and leaning against the bedroom wall. 

“I’m alright,” she answered, slowly but truthfully. She turned in her chair to face him. “We caught the killer. And it won’t bring Billy back, but it will give Molly some closure. Sometimes that’s the best you get.”

“A bit more in this case. I spoke with Compton before we left. He’s going to recommend Billy for a posthumous medal ‘in service of Australia and in defence of the RAAF.’”

“So Billy gets to be a knight after all,” she said with a small smile.

“With a lot of help from a certain damsel.”

She rolled her eyes at that. “I was never in distress, Jack.”

“I never said you were. Nice slide, by the way. Are you sure you never played footy?”

“Well, not _on_ the pitch…” she grinned, standing from the vanity as she finished her drink.

“Enough,” he stopped her, holding up his hand and pushing off the wall. Walking towards her, his eye was drawn to her left hand and the ring she never took off. “Phryne… what does that ring mean to you? We’ve never really talked about it. We’ve joked and we’ve teased, but we’ve never really _talked_. It can’t just be about keeping the public at large uncertain about the nature of our relationship.”

“It’s a commitment ring, Jack”

“But that’s… it’s not my ring, Phryne. I didn’t give it to you.”

“Of course not. I gave it to us.” She looked at him for moment, trying to decide the best way to explain. “Last night, we talked a lot about our partnership. But, that… it doesn’t just happen, Jack. It takes work. Work I am committed to.”

“Which is nice to hear. But what does that have to do with the ring?”

“I once said I could never commit myself to any man. That was true then and it remains true now. I’m not committed to a _man_ , Jack. I’m committed to us. To our partnership. To the work and the love and everything that comes with it. I hope that’s something you’re committed to as well.”

Jack stared at her for a moment. Then he smiled. It was his “to hell with it” smile. The one she had first seen on a stage near Chinatown many years before. The one that meant this was very likely a terrible idea but he was absolutely going to do it anyway. The one he only ever used around her. Holding his partner's hand lightly, he replied. 

“I do, Phryne.”

She shook her head at him and rolled her eyes, but did not take back her hand. “Am, Jack. It’s I _am_.” 

“Isn’t that what I said?” 

“No.”

“Easy mistake.” 

“Is that so?”

“Mmmm.” Jack raised her hand to his lips and gave a kiss to her knuckles. “Sometimes,” a kiss to the inside of her wrist, “rarely, but sometimes,” a kiss to her palm, “things that matter very _very_ much, are easy.”

“Are you calling me easy, Jack?” she asked cheekily, rubbing her thumb gently along the side of his face.

“Oh, be quiet and let me kiss you, you daft, impossible, extraordinary woman.”

“Well, since you asked so nicely…”

“Thank you,” he said and kissed her softly. When they broke apart he kissed the tip of her nose and moved away to begin undressing for bed. “I need to be up earlier than I’d like tomorrow, and I apologize in advance if I wake you.”

“Can’t the paperwork wait until after noon? It’s the middle of the night!”

“The paperwork can, but your Captain Compton apparently can’t. He’s got some big meeting up in Sydney and needs to leave by the afternoon, so I have to take his statement in the morning.”

“Well, can’t you send Hugh or something?”

“No, I’d rather handle it myself. I have some personal questions for him anyway.”

She looked at him with slightly narrowed eyes. “Personal? Jaaaaack, you can’t possibly still be jealous of Compton.” 

“A little, yes. Did you see the two-way mirror? How long do you think it will be before City South gets anything like that? Think of what that could do for improving our interrogations.” He yanked his tie loose in frustration. “Anyway, I want to ask him how he managed to requisition it.”

Phryne sat on the bed to remove her shoes. “I see. Well, I’ve always been partial to one-way mirrors myself,” she gestured to the one at the foot of her bed, “and what we can do with those.”

Jack walked over to her, tie in hand, eyebrow raised, smirk firmly in place.

“Miss Fisher, whatever could you mean?”

“Well if you’d like to keep the interrogation going, I’m sure I could be convinced to talk -”

But, as it turned out, Jack was quite done talking. 


End file.
